tc.

esteljune:

Poor France is ill and our city is a wound, inflamed by all efforts to heal her.

A king once ruled, headstrong and corrupt… now headless and a corpse, murdered by men just as vile.

Today, fanatics from all sides spill blood on every corner. A thousand terrors I mean to cure.

Day by day.

Street by street.

Templar by Templar.

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tc.