The Distant Metropolis
The iron gate shrieks as you force it open, the sound a jagged tear in the silence of the courtyard. Rain slicks the cobblestones, turning the gray afternoon into a mirror of bruised clouds. You are wet to the bone, your cloak heavy with water, your boots sinking into the mud that clings to your heels like a living thing. Inside, the air is thick, stale, and smells of damp wool and old blood....
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