The Distant Legend
The air in the smelting town of Blackwood is not merely dirty; it is a living, breathing entity that settles into the lungs like a fine, grey silt, coating the alveoli with a taste of iron and old pennies, and you, Elias Thorne, stand in the center of the main square, your hands trembling not from the cold which has bitten through your wool coat for three consecutive winters, but from the...
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