The Wistful Crossroads
The banquet hall of the City Watch headquarters smelled of roasted pork, stale beer, and the metallic tang of wet wool, a pungent cocktail that had settled into the very pores of the oak walls over decades of service. We sat in long, heavy rows, the clatter of cutlery against china providing a rhythmic counterpoint to the low, murmuring chorus of men who had spent their lives enforcing the...
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