The Golden Harbor
The Great Hall of the Citadel of Aethelgard did not smell of dust or decay, but of roasted swan, spiced wine, and the heavy, cloying scent of lilies that were forced to bloom out of season by the alchemical fires beneath the floor. It was a feast of such staggering opulence that it seemed less a gathering of men and more a ritual sacrifice to the vanity of the living. The walls, carved from...
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