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a tale of Mythic Qin
“The Great Wyrms of Westerwood were incredible beasts, easily as long as twenty wagons stretched end to end and weighing more than a full grown oak.”
My grandfather was a doddering old fool but he knew how to tell a good tale. I had heard this one so many times, even when I was out of earshot, his telling of this particular tall tale came back to me, in my inner ear.
“These were the greatest of the Great Wyrms. None had been seen like that since the wars of the Third Age in which they were all destroyed. Unable to be tamed, we battled them until they were driven from our skies. Our mountains still bear the great scars as the Wyrms fell and destroyed themselves against the mountain walls.”
I turned around to see the White Mountains and the brutal scars which adorned…
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