The Golden Oath
The mud on your boots has dried into a crust that looks like old bone, a testament to the three days you have walked without rest through the ash-choked valleys of the north. You are Thomas, the scholar of the old order, a man whose mind is a library of laws and whose hands are stained with ink rather than blood, yet here you are, carrying a satchel of parchment across a landscape that has been...
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