The Distant Blade
The hall smelled of roasted venison and old stone, a pungent, cloying scent that clung to the throat like a secret kept too long. We were gathered in the Great Hall of Blackwood Manor, a structure so ancient its very mortar seemed to weep with the damp of centuries. The fire roared in the hearth, a beast of orange and black that devoured the logs with a hungry, snapping pace. I stood at the...
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