The Pale Tower
The banquet hall of the Ironworks sat heavy with the scent of roasted goose and stale tobacco, a warm fog that clung to the wool coats of the men who had gathered to celebrate the end of the line. Captain Elias Thorne sat at the head of the table, his hands resting on the polished wood, steady as the gears in the machines outside. He was a large man, built for the rigors of the factory floor,...
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