The doors to the bar slam open in a gust of wind and heat. For a breathless moment, the room stills…mugs half-raised, dice mid-roll. Then he strides in, grinning and scanning the room. You huddle deeper into your cloak, watching from a corner table. Kael leans on the bar, the fire reflecting in his eyes.
Ale. Strong enough to punch back. And maybe a map, if any of you cowards know where they’re hiding the one who speaks to storms.
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