The Distant Temple
The banquet hall of the Citadel of St. Jude’s was a cavern of stone and smoke, where the air hung thick with the scent of roasting boar, spilled wine, and the metallic tang of fear that permeated the walls like a damp chill. You sit at the far end of the long oak table, your hands folded neatly in your lap, your fingers white-knuckled beneath the coarse wool of your penitential cloak, while the...
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