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The king was a proud man; he had gained much in life, his wealth preserved and protected against even the craftiest of raiders and statesmen alike.

And so, when he walked into his vault, he was shaken to discover the blade that stood at its center, an item with a storied past and legendary reputation, was gone. In its place was a letter, unmarked, sealed with the black symbol of a single feather. As his trembling hands opened it, he read,

To whom it may concern, fondest greetings! I hope this letter finds you as well as may be given the inevitable circumstances of its discovery. Know I truly wish no ill towards you or, as it may be, who you serve. If it will assuage your fears, view this as a simple transaction of business in which your preparation was matched against my wit, with the only outcome likely in such a scenario having come to pass. Try to find me if you will, but know you do so at your own cost and peril.

None but my own, The Ravenheart

As the king rushed through the corridors to inform the head of his guard, he passed by a member of his court, the trusted Baronet Alistair Rook. In his haste he brushed against the man's black coat, muttering a word of apology before sprinting off. He missed the man's self-satisfied smile as he turned the corner.

And, in a flurry of feathers, the hallway was empty once more.

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