The Pale Echo
The dampness of the cell has seeped into your bones, a cold that no amount of shivering can banish, and you clutch the stolen silver chalice to your chest as if it were a living thing, its cold metal biting into your skin with a pain that feels almost like comfort. You are Elias Thorne, forty years of service etched into the lines of your face, a constable of the City Watch whose only crime in...
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