The Golden Myth
The mud in the courtyard of the keep did not simply stick to the boots of Sergeant Elias Thorne; it seemed to drink the heat from his skin, a cold, sucking entity that pulled at his ankles with a tenacity that defied the simple mechanics of earth and gravity. He stood beneath the heavy oak door, the air thick with the scent of wet stone and the faint, metallic tang of the iron sigil branded...
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