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... Upper Wind Month, 1 CE, 1800 Hours
Ugh…I’m going to die. I need a drink.
Draudillon placed her pen in its inkwell. She flexed the fingers of her cramped hand, reviewing what was somewhere past her hundredth missive to the various organisations and districts of Oriculon. This particular one was to be sent to the Guild of Shipwrights, whose members had been working nonstop to repair the damaged vessels moored at the city’s piers.
She frowned at the childish structure and v ...
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