The Golden Echoes
The banquet hall of the Citadel of St. Jude was not a room but a throat, a vast, arched cavern of black oak and iron that swallowed sound and spat it back out as a low, resonant hum which vibrated in the marrow of the bone. The air was thick, almost tangible, a heavy suspension of tallow smoke, roasted venison, and the sharp, metallic tang of old blood that seemed to seep from the very walls, a...
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