The City of Inkseeds rose from the desert, shining and decadent. Somehow, it still stood. I crossed through the gate, and the beast knew exactly where to take me: the way worn by beggars and poets. The only place a man of my appetites can find satisfaction. I'm not proud, but then, nobody ever is.
Attributes | Values |
---|---|
rdfs:label |
|
rdfs:comment |
|
dcterms:subject | |
FullTitle |
|
dbkwik:elder-scrol...iPageUsesTemplate | |
dbkwik:elderscroll...iPageUsesTemplate | |
Author |
|
collection | |
Title |
|
abstract |
|