The Distant Clue
The seal is cracked. You know this before you touch it. The wax, once a proud crimson, has dried to the color of dried blood, and the impression of the Griffin and Shield is worn smooth, the beak and talons indistinct, as if time itself had rubbed the face of the beast until it became a mere suggestion of power. You are Thomas Bradshaw, and you are the inquisitor for the House of Ashworth. It...
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