The Pale Tale
The mud of the Riverlands is not merely wet; it is a living thing, sucking at your boots with a greedy, viscous hunger that mirrors the debt binding your soul. You are Elias Thorne, thirty-two, a knight-errant in the fractured Kingdom of Aethelgard, and you stand in the center of this mire, your breath pluming in the cold air, your hand resting on the hilt of a sword that feels too heavy for...
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