The Golden Oath
The cellar smelled of wet limestone and the metallic tang of old blood. You were not alone, though the silence was so thick it felt like a physical weight pressing against your eardrums. Around you, the other men of the 14th Garrison stood in a loose semicircle, their faces illuminated by the flickering gaslight of a single iron lantern. They did not look at you. They looked at the table. On...
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