The Golden Mirror
The banquet hall of the Citadel of St. Jude smelled of roasted lamb, stale beer, and the metallic tang of old blood that never quite scrubbed out of the stone floors. You sat at the high table, your spine rigid against the hard wood, watching the torchlight flicker against the vaulted ceiling where shadows danced like guilty spirits. Around you, the other officers of the City Watch ate and...
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