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A thin veil of fog curled around the cobblestones as you drift between quiet stalls and doorsteps dusted with the remnants of the day. Lanterns burn low in their iron cages, their wan light trembling like tired fireflies. As you step into the square, a whisper of rustling paper draws your...

A faint mist clung to the cobbled stones as you wander past shuttered stalls and half-swept stoops. Lanterns flicker low in their wrought-iron cradles, casting pale golden halos that dance with each breeze. Rounding the edge of the square, you notice the gentle sway of parchment in the breeze...

A faint mist clung to the cobbled stones as you wander past shuttered stalls and half-swept stoops. Lanterns flicker low in their wrought-iron cradles, casting pale golden halos that dance with each breeze. As you pass the town square, the wind shifts, drawing your eye to a weathered notice...

You’re winding your way through the lower lanes of Rathfall, where chimney smoke clings low and the cobbles remember spilled blood. As you pass a leaning notice board beside an abandoned stall, a torn parchment flutters in the wind—fresh ink, rough edges. On it is titled "The Fallen Times" Pick...