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... of sanctuary. The roar of the crowd was a distant, muffled hum, a world away from the cauldron of noise just outside the door.

The air was thick with the smell of sweat, liniment, and sheer, unadulterated effort. My players were slumped in their seats, their chests heaving, their faces a mask of exhaustion. There was no celebration, no back-slapping, no sense of triumph.

Just the grim, quiet determination of soldiers in a trench, taking a brief, precious moment of respite before ...

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