The Wistful Saga
The rain did not fall so much as it hung in the air, a heavy, grey mist that clung to the stone walls of the Keep of St. Aldric, soaking into the mortar and the bone alike. It was a damp that had no season, a perpetual twilight that had settled over the valley three years ago, ever since the silence came from the north. Thomas Bradshaw, the Keeper of the Gate, stood on the upper rampart, his...
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