The Pale Tower
The feast was a roar of silver and salt, a chaotic symphony of clinking goblets and low, conspiratorial laughter that swallowed the air whole. In the high hall of the village, beneath beams blackened by centuries of smoke, the men of the Watch drank deep. They were a brotherhood of iron and oath, bound by the ancient, unspoken law that kept the dark at bay. At the center of this storm sat...
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