Morg’s cloak flapped as he sprinted through the narrow,
twisting alleyways. His injured leg made it hard to run; the mob was gaining on
him. A blind turn brought him face to face with a stone wall. He started
climbing. The sound of the pursuers grew as he slowly ascended, his demon arm
smashing handholds on one side while the claws of his angorbor fingers dug into
the space between the misshapen stones. He was just throwing one leg over the wall
when he felt something strike him from behind. He slipped down and someone
started pulling on his cloak.
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