The Faded Quadrant

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2026-08-18 04:26:04 -

The rain had turned the clay road behind the house into a slurry of brown paste that sucked at the boots of the men as they marched into the courtyard of the manor. It was a wet, grey morning in the highlands, the kind of damp that settles into the bones and refuses to leave, a persistent chill that even the fire in the great hall could not fully banish. Sir Thomas Bradshaw stood by the window,...

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