The Distant Joke

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2026-08-24 00:32:07 -

The Distant Joke

The feast of St. Crispin was a silence that screamed. In the year of our Lord 1042, the great hall of Blackwater Abbey was set for a celebration that had no joy in it, only the rigid geometry of fear. Sir Aldric stood at the threshold, his armor cold against his skin, watching the monks file into their pews with the mechanical precision of the damned. He was forty years old, a knight whose...

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