The Wistful Voyage
The rain had been falling on the cobblestones of Highbridge for three days, a relentless, grey drumming that seemed to hollow out the bones of the old city, turning the familiar streets into slick, treacherous mirrors that reflected nothing but the weary faces of those who walked them, and it was in this damp, echoing silence that the old knight, Sir Aldric of the Hollow, stood before the gate...
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