The Golden Suspect
The road to the citadel of Aethelgard was a ribbon of grey stone that cut through the mist like a scar. You walked with your shield on your back, the leather creaking softly under the weight of the morning dew. The air was thick, heavy with the scent of wet earth and the metallic tang of blood that seemed to seep from the very stones of the ancient path. You were a soldier of the King’s Guard,...
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