The Golden Farce
The rain had not stopped for three days, a persistent and cold sheet that turned the cobblestones of the market square into a mirror reflecting the bruised and swollen belly of the sky, and it was in this grey, dripping silence that Elara Vane found the object resting in the gutter, half-submerged in the filth of the street, a small, heavy sphere of polished obsidian that seemed to drink the...
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