The Golden Visit
The iron of the sword bites into the wet earth, and the mist does not clear for you, but thickens, curling around your ankles like the smoke of a dying fire. You are standing in the courtyard of a house that does not exist on any map you have ever studied, a place where the stones are slick with an ancient, perpetual rain and the air tastes of copper and old blood. Your armor, once a shining...
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