The Wistful Mountain
Act I Does the ink bleed, or does the stone drink? I am Kadru Undarl, and my hands are stained black to the wrist, the pigment of the Archivist’s trade. I am a scribe, a man of thirty years, and I have come to the crater city of Veld to erase my name from the Ledger of Boundaries. The mountain here is not stone; it is a living vein, pulsing with the weight of every soul that has ever crossed...
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