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... Its domed ceiling reached far above, covered in faded murals of Asmethan’s birth into the world, surrounded by marble-sculpted doves that seemed to stare down in judgment. Incense hung in the air, curling up into the beams of light from braziers down the walls. Lines of white-robed people sat in a circle around a great obsidian table, the temple elders, each face determined by years of duty and dense faith.
High Father Seraphon sat at the head of the table, his position relaxed but firm ...
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