The Golden Oath
The feast in the Great Hall of the Ironwood Citadel was a cacophony of clinking steel and roasted meat, a sensory assault that seemed to vibrate in the marrow of my bones as I sat rigid in my chair, the weight of the ceremonial blade resting against my hip like a second, colder spine. The air was thick with the scent of pine resin and the sweat of three hundred men who had marched for weeks...
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