The Distant Joke

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2026-08-24 19:38:40 -

The Distant Joke

The iron ring was cold, heavier than a lead shot, and I held it in my palm while the dust of the valley floor settled into the creases of my skin. It is the year of our Lord 1342, and I am thirty-four years old, a scribe whose ink has run dry on the pages of my life, standing in the shadow of the obsidian hall of Lord Vane. I have come for the Silent Key, the only artifact capable of severing...

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