the knoll

A rare thing it was to behold Monroe Cathmore smiling freely, laughing at some joke that was possibly too poor in execution, but the honeyed mead that passed through the lips of not just Cathmore, but others too, made them each more receptible to such terrible jests. It had been someone's...

Early spring Down in the bowels of the Knoll, in the kitchens after the morning rush, suds bubbled and popped and gathered about in little clusters of froth amidst a washbin. Green hands worked a bristly scrub with and a splash. The drainage was corked, and Roki was glad the soap was scented...