The Faded River
The letter arrived on a morning thick with the scent of damp earth and crushed thyme, a scent that seemed to cling to the hem of your tunic as you stood in the courtyard of the Keep. It was not a letter of love, nor of war, but a summons, written in the stiff, angular script of the Chancellor’s office. It detailed the departure of Lord Alistair, the man who held the garrison’s heart and your...
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