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Summary
“You seem like a good man, so I’ll give you some advice—this place chews up and spits out lesser men. Some of them,” Sarmenti jerks a finger up the road, “I wouldn’t trust as far as I can throw them.” He shakes his head. “You want to do good, you’re better off somewhere you won’t croak in the middle of some unspeakable filth.”
“That would likely be my fate, as it is. I would rather spend the last of my days with my sword in my hands.”
Sarmenti wonders how long that resolve will last. The thought leaves a sour taste in his mouth. “Suit yourself, then,” he says with a shrug. “But you can’t say I didn’t warn you.”
The meeting of a Leper King and a runaway Jester, and and every trial, tribulation, and moment of hope that it entails.