The Distant Clue
You arrive in the city of Aethelgard not as a pilgrim, but as a fugitive. The mud on your boots is the only evidence of the road you fled, a road that stretches back through three years of silence and the cold, stone-walled prison of your own guilt. The air here is thick, tasting of coal smoke and old rain. It is the Middle of Ages, or so it seems, where the centuries do not pass but pile up,...
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