“And thus, Lord Vittore, giant amidst the exalted company of heroes, bestrode the mountain and there did he ensnare his foe. Vittore’s long dark locks blew about a glorious face befitting a god, such was its beauty. The gold-trimmed, pure white cloak of kings swirled about his back. Proud and piercing were his eyes, yet still could they display pity for his enemy. Such was his grace and modesty. Beneath his triumphant heel, the fires of the vanquished city burned. Smoke spiralled into the sky from which dark clouds had been banished at the fall of the iniquitous citadel. The souls of the damned were taken to eternal night where the stars dare not penetrate.
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