The Golden Song
The bread is already stale when you find it, wrapped in a cloth that has seen better centuries, its texture like the skin of a dried leaf, brittle and unyielding under your thumb. You are the King’s Guard, a title that has outlived the King, and you stand in the shadow of the great oak table where the Council of Elders holds their silent, judgmental court. The air in the Hall of Whispers is...
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