The Golden Farce
The tavern smelled of wet wool and copper, a pungent mix that clung to the back of Elias Thorne’s throat as he drove his elbow into the gut of the man who had just spit on his wages. The creature on the floor, a dockworker named Miller, gurgled, his face a mask of confusion and pain, while the rest of the room fell into a stunned, heavy silence. Elias did not stand immediately. He remained...
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