The Faded Root
You have walked for three days through the grey, weeping fens of the northern border, your boots caked in the thick, sucking clay that seems to pull at your soul as much as your flesh, and the rain has not stopped since the moment you left the safety of the stone gate, a relentless, icy sheet that blurs the line between the earth and the sky until you are swimming in a world of wet, indistinct...
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