The Pale Tale
The rain in the city of Oram did not fall so much as it hung, a grey curtain drawn tight against the windows of the old quarter. Elias Thorne walked through it, his boots sinking into the mud that coated the cobblestones, the weight of his pack pressing a familiar ache into his shoulders. He was a man who had walked out of a burning house, and now he walked through a city that seemed to be...
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