The Distant Joke

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2026-08-20 11:59:38 -

The Distant Joke

The banquet hall smelled of roasted pheasant and wet wool, a cloying mixture that hung in the air like a suspended judgment. Sergeant Elias Thorne stood by the heavy oak doors, his hand resting on the hilt of his ceremonial sword, though the blade remained sheathed. Around him, the officers of the garrison laughed, their voices bouncing off the stone walls, celebrating the suppression of the...

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