The Faded Chronicle

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2026-08-18 10:36:21 -

The feast was loud. It hammered against the stone walls of the Guild Hall, a relentless drumming of wood on wood and breath against breath. You sat at the long oak table, your hands folded in your lap, the leather of your gloves creaking softly with every shift of your weight. Around you, the masters of the city drank wine the color of bruised plums. They laughed. The sound was wet and heavy,...

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