The Distant Metropolis
The feast in the great hall of Ashworth was a thing of terrible, vibrant life, a swirling vortex of roasted boar, spilled wine, and the deafening laughter of men who did not know that the ground beneath their feet was slowly sinking into the earth. Old Elias stood at the edge of the firelight, his armor cold against his skin, a layer of dust from the centuries settling into the creases of his...
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