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The Marked King

There weren’t always dragons in the Valley. At least, that is what grandfather had told me. He was ancient as hell. He fancied sitting at his small round table, facing toward the window, as he told us stories. Which the family found a bit odd, as he wore a cloth that covered his eyes. We all wondered when he was finally going to keel over at that table of his, pipe still lit and stuck between his chapped lips.