The Wistful Ashes

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2026-08-21 19:11:21 -

The Wistful Ashes

The feast was a cacophony of clinking silver and the wet, rhythmic tearing of raw meat, a sound that had long since ceased to register as appetite in the mind of Sergeant Elias Thorne and had instead settled into his bones as a low, grinding hum of warning. We sat in the Great Hall of the Iron Spire, a structure that pierced the low, grey sky like a blackened nail driven into the flesh of the...

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