The Golden Farce
The dust in the Archive did not settle. It hovered, a golden fog that tasted of copper and old paper. Elias Thorne wiped his brow with a rag that had long since lost its color. He was a Seeker of the Third Order, a title that meant very little to the common folk but everything to the men in the Iron Hall. His job was simple, or so the Charter claimed. Find the Lost Things. Return them to the...
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