The Pale Banner
The feast hall of the Abbey of St. Jude’s was not built for light, but for the heavy, damp silence of centuries, and tonight it was filled with a warmth that felt less like hospitality and more like the feverish breath of a dying beast. You sat at the far end of the long oak table, your back pressed against the cold stone wall, feeling the vibration of the lute music travel through the...
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