iii) Cang backs away from the door itself

Cang backs away from the door itself, paws at the vaguely-opalescent stones of the wall. Hefting his warhammer, he cleanly knocks a stone the size of his head loose of its mooring. Fine particulate clouds and takes many minutes to settle. With a laugh, Cang knocks another stone loose, only to realise that a band of iron stands behind the stones. He raps a knuckle against it, opens his ruck. “I was certain I’d carried a chisel with me,” he says, pulling out a set of clanking manacles. He draws out two iron spikes. “Perhaps not.”

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