The Golden Maze
You are wading through the fog that smells of wet iron and old blood, your boots sinking into the silt of a river that has no name and no end. It is the Third Age, or perhaps the First, for time here is a circle that has been worn smooth by the friction of countless feet, and you cannot tell where the beginning is anymore. You are Aldric, though the name feels like a stone in your mouth, heavy...
0 Comments 0 Shares 2 Views 0 Reviews