The Pale Banner
The rain in Harrowgate did not fall so much as it hovered, a grey, suffocating mist that turned the cobblestones into slick mirrors of the sky’s bruised indifference. Elias Thorne sat alone in the back of the apothecary, the smell of dried lavender and rotting herbs thick in his nostrils, pressing a bandage to the side of his head where a stone had struck him three hours prior. He was a man of...
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