The Distant Legend
The document was a simple thing, a slip of parchment no larger than a hand, its edges soft with age and the grease of many fingers. It bore the seal of the Lord of Ashworth, a crest of a stag rampant, pressed into wax that had long since hardened to the color of dried blood. Elara turned it over in her hands, the rough texture of the vellum scratching against her skin, a sensation that felt...
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