The Golden Farce
The iron in your blood sings. It is a low, grinding hum, a vibration that starts in your teeth and settles in the marrow of your shins. You are Elias, and you are thirty-two years old, and you are a watchman in the stone city of Oakhaven. You want the sword. It hangs in the Guildmaster’s window, rusted and dull, a relic of your father’s service. It is the only thing left of him, and it is worth...
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