The Wistful Saga
The smell of roasted mutton and stale beer hung heavy in the mess hall, a thick, greasy fog that seemed to settle into the lungs of every man present. Sergeant Elias Thorne sat at the head of the long wooden table, his uniform pressed but ill-fitting against a frame that had grown thin and brittle, the dust of the coal mines working its way into the fine architecture of his chest. He coughed, a...
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