The Golden Ritual
The rain did not fall so much as it was pressed down upon the valley of Aethelgard by a sky that had forgotten the color of blue, turning the air into a heavy, wet wool that choked the breath from the lungs of every man, woman, and child who dared to remain in the open fields where the wheat had long since rotted into a black, sludge-like mulch that smelled of decay and the slow, inevitable...
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