The Faded River
Elias Thorne. The name was spoken by the town crier, a thin, reedy sound that cut through the thick, wet fog rolling off the River Oakhaven, and you stood in the center of the town square, your hands trembling as they gripped the handle of your brass wrench. The solstice feast was in full swing, the long tables groaning under the weight of roasted pork, heavy loaves of bread, and casks of ale...
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