The Distant Joke

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2026-08-24 14:06:02 -

The Distant Joke

The mud on the road to St. Jude’s was a thick, black paste that sucked at Elias Vane’s boots with the persistence of a leech. He was thirty years old, sharp-featured, and hungry for the office of Inquisitor General, a hunger that had eaten away the flesh of his faith until only the bone remained. In his breast pocket, a fragment of parchment—the Abbot’s final letter—pressed against his ribs...

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