The Pale Shadows
The rain had not stopped for three days, turning the cobblestones of the lower town into a slick, treacherous mirror that reflected the grey, bruised sky above. Thomas Bradshaw walked through the deluge with the heavy, deliberate pace of a man who had long since stopped trying to keep dry. He was a Constable of the Watch, a title that in these damp, forgotten years carried less weight than the...
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