The Faded Ruin

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2026-08-22 07:44:20 -

The Faded Ruin

The feast in the High Citadel was a cacophony of clattering silver and the wet, rhythmic tearing of bread, yet Thomas Vane heard only the scratching of his own quill against the parchment before him. It was the autumn of 1342, and the air in the great hall hung thick with the scent of roasted venison and the metallic, coppery tang of the new ink, a substance brewed from crushed lapis and the...

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