The Pale Banner
The feast in the Hall of Whispers was a thing of excess, a sprawling tableau of roasted boar and spiced wine that seemed to mock the hollow ache in my belly. I stood at the periphery, clutching a cup of thin ale, watching the light from the hundred candles catch the gold leaf on the armor of Lord Aldric’s guards. My stomach growled, a low, persistent rumble that felt like a betrayal of my own...
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