The Faded Shield

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2026-08-23 08:17:32 -

The Faded Shield

The fog in Oakhaven did not merely settle; it pressed against the windows like a living thing, thick and damp, smelling of wet wool and old iron. You are Eamon, the constable, and your hands are wrapped around the hilt of your sword, though the blade is rusted and dull. It is the year of our Lord 1342, and the harvest is three days from rotting in the fields if the Iron Shield is not retrieved...

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