The Faded Portrait
The seal was heavy, cold, and stained with the grease of three years’ unpaid service. Elias Thorne held it in his palm, the metal biting into the calluses of a man who had spent the last decade swinging a sword until his shoulders ached in the damp. He stood before the High Lord’s portrait, a massive canvas of oil and varnish that dominated the keep’s eastern wall. The Lord’s eyes, painted in a...
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