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Chapter One: Dawn to Murder
The Wheel of Time turns, and Ages come and pass, leaving memories that become legend. Legend fades to myth, and even the myth is long forgotten when the Age that gave it’s birth come again. In one Age, called the Third Age by some, and Age yet to come, and Age long past, a wind rose on Garen’s Wall. The wind was not the beginning. There are neither beginnings nor endings to the turning of the Wheel of Time. But it was a beginning. The wind trailed the narrow mountain range north-west, and soon arrived in the Two Rivers. The Wind now blew west, and rose against the slopes of the Mountains of Mist. It divided itself among the mountain tops and one found it’s way to the Grey Tower. The battlements were caressed as it passed over its merlons and flags, the two teardrops which made a circle stretched and fluttered, only to be left behind again. And then, before the wind died, the last fringe reached the Warder Hall. And the body of a young man at a rope’s end swayed when it was touched. He hung by the neck at the front of the big structure, dressed in a blood-stained drin’far’ji uniform. The light-grey shade of his formal set of clothing was illuminated by the dawn’s sun, the wet and sticky patches glinting. His brown hair hung in strands before his eyes, dampened red. The morning was silent, and fingers of mist still trailed over the training yards. This morning, Luantar cen Thaal’s training was ended. OOC Disclaimer: The first passage was quoted from Robert Jordan’s fantasy series. It’s writing was not my own. All credit goes to this brilliant author. Chapter One: Dawn to Murder
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