The Faded Chronicle
The feast in the great hall of the Ironwood Manor was a thing of terrible, hollow splendor. Candelabras of black iron held flames that did not flicker, casting long, rigid shadows against the tapestries that depicted hunts and battles from a time before memory. The air smelled of roasted boar, stale wine, and the metallic tang of old blood that seemed to seep up from the flagstone floor. Lord...
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