The Golden Farce
The mist did not merely hang over the highlands of Aethelgard; it breathed, a cold, wet exhalation that seeped into the bones of Silas Vane, a Ranger whose face had been carved from granite and silence over forty years of patrolling these treacherous slopes. He stood at the precipice of the Sunken Keep, the water below glowing with a faint, bioluminescent malice that pulsed in time with the...
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