The Wistful Saga
The cart rattled over the cobblestones, a sound like old bones grinding together in the dark. Elias sat in the back, his knees drawn up to his chest. He was a man of small habits and smaller stature, a clerk in the city who had never held a sword or a plow. But here, in the fog-choked valley of Aethelgard, he held a ledger. The ledger was thick, bound in leather that smelled of rot and rain. It...
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