The Distant Temple

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2026-08-24 02:39:19 -

14th of November, 1240. I write this by the light of a tallow candle that sputters and weeps, its smoke staining the parchment with a grey soot that mirrors the creeping blackness on my own skin. I am Elias Thorne, warden of the northern border, and I am a dead man walking, though I do not yet know the precise hour of my execution. The Rot has reached my collarbone, a velvet spread of mold that...

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