The Faded Root

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2026-08-18 03:18:20 -

The Faded Root

The banquet hall of the Citadel of Ashworth was not merely a room but a lung, breathing in the smoke of a thousand tallow candles and exhaling the heavy, cloying scent of roasted boar and spilled wine, which had soaked so deeply into the tapestries of the high vaulted ceiling that they now resembled dried maps of ancient, forgotten wars. I stood at the edge of the long table, my hand resting on...

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