The Faded Root
The bell tolls. It is a heavy sound, iron on iron, that shakes the dust from the high rafters of the Keep. You sit in the center of the stone floor. The cold seeps up through your tunic, a physical weight that settles in your bones. You are alone. The door is barred. The torches sputter in the draft, casting long, stuttering shadows that dance like hungry dogs against the walls. You are a...
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