The Wistful Incense
The hall of the Citadel of St. Jude did not smell of incense, as the bards claimed it should, but of wet wool, stale beer, and the metallic tang of old blood that had seeped into the stone floor over centuries. It was a feast, or at least it was designated as such by the High Warden, but the atmosphere was that of a waiting room in a plague hospital. Men sat at long trestle tables, their armor...
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