The Golden Ritual
The mortar and pestle struck together with a sound like a bone snapping, a sharp, wet crack that echoed through the sterile, stone-walled infirmary of the Abbey of St. Jude. Brother Anselm, the Head Pharmacist, did not look up from his work. He was a man of considerable stature, his robes heavy with the dust of a hundred dried herbs, his face a mask of professional dispassion. Around him, the...
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