The Distant Blade

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2026-08-24 06:24:12 -

The Distant Blade

The iron portcullis groaned against the sandstone floor, a sound like a dying man clearing his throat, and Brother Thomas Bradshaw did not flinch, his quill scratching a steady, rhythmic line across the vellum of the *Liber Sanitatis* while the dust of the siege drifted down from the shattered roof beams in slow, gray snow. He was thirty-two years old, a scribe of middling talent and middling...

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