The Wistful Incense
The seal is not merely a mark, Elias; it is a contract written in the marrow of your bones, and you have been signing it with every stick you burn for the last twelve years. You stand in the center of the Oakhaven Guild Hall, the air thick with the cloying sweetness of sandalwood and the metallic tang of fear, while Master Halloway, a man whose face has smoothed into a featureless oval of skin,...
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