The Rusted Crown
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He was crouched there, like a demented gargoyle, with an even more demented grin on his face. His skin was scraggly and spotted, dry and cracked. His clothes, almost non-existent. threads barely clinging to his wrinkly and pale skin. On his scraggly, bald head sat a rusted crown, with a clean and opaque gemstone in the middle. And then he finally spoke.
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post-apocalyptic
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