The Distant Blade
The order arrived on a slip of heavy, cream-colored card, the ink still wet and smelling of iron filings and stale tobacco, lying atop the mahogany desk in the antechamber where the air hung thick with the scent of ozone and old stone. You read it twice, your eyes sliding over the formal, cold script that named you, Elias Thorne, Captain of the Imperial Guard, and designated you the target of...
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