The Faded Portrait
Elias Thorne. The name was called out by the wind, a sharp, brittle sound that snapped against the cliff face like a whip, and you turned your head, expecting the guide to be shouting warnings about the loose scree, but the valley below was empty, the mist coiling around your boots in silent, grey sheets. You are a mapmaker, a man who has spent twenty years rendering the chaotic sprawl of the...
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