The Golden Quest
The candlelight in the great hall of Malus Keep shimmers with a viscosity that is not quite oil, a golden, living thing that pools in the hollows of the silverware and climbs the legs of the table. You are Elias, a scribe of thirty years, and your hand rests on the arm of the high-backed chair, the skin tight and pale, while beneath the flesh, the rotting seal of your father’s name pulses with...
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