Starlion
Massive armies of black clouds cluster on the horizon. The wind picks up speed, greedily eating up the corn fields and oak boughs. The frantic fluttering of flags stirs up the thought from your blood:
You have 5 choices:
- "The sword. My blood-clotted hair whipping in my face. I can hear them."
- "This will hinder my concentration. Too much tumult."
- "What flags? The only cloth I see or hear is my new gown for the ball."
- "The storm will provide perfect cover for my rangers."
- "The day is so raw, fierce, beautiful. I’m going out!"