The Faded Quadrant
You stand in the infirmary of the White Monastery. The air is thick with the scent of boiled herbs and old stone. It is the Year of the Ash. The war has been going on for three years. It is a war of attrition. A war of silence. The enemy does not attack. They starve you. They watch you. You are the Keeper of the Mortar. This is your title. It is also your burden. You are not a soldier. You do...
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