The Pale Banner
The bellman’s voice cracked like a dry twig as it cut through the grey mist of the Guild Hall courtyard, calling my name with a sharpness that felt like a physical blow to the ear. Elias Thorne. I stood rigid among the other scribes, my fingers white-knuckled around the strap of my leather satchel, which held three quills, a pot of iron-gall ink, and the heavy, lead-weighted ledger that had...
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