The Golden Quest
The dream always begins with the sound of the loom, a rhythmic, wooden clacking that feels less like a mechanical operation and more like the slow, grinding chewing of a jawbone, and you wake in the high tower of the Blackwood estate, the air thick with the scent of damp stone and the peculiar, metallic tang of old magic that has begun to sour, to rot within the walls where it has been trapped...
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