The Golden Ritual
The feast was a thing of teeth and bone. It sat in the center of the stone hall, a mountain of roasted boar, glistening with rendered fat. The smell was thick. It clogged the throat. It clogged the mind. The air was heavy with the sweat of men. With the smoke of tallow candles. With the stench of unwashed wool. Silas sat at the head of the table. He did not eat. He watched. The meat was a...
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