The Distant Joke

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2026-08-22 23:59:48 -

The Distant Joke

The ledger of the Guild of Wardens was a heavy thing, bound in cracked leather and smelling of mildew and old ink, and Elias Thorne had spent the last three hours counting the entries, his finger tracing the indented lines where the ink had worn thin from years of bureaucratic neglect. He counted the rations: four sacks of flour, twelve barrels of salted pork, and a quantity of gunpowder that...

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