The Pale Echo
The rain did not fall so much as it seeped, a grey mist that clung to the flagstones of the great hall and settled into the wool of your doublet. You stood before the High Steward, a man whose face was a map of old grievances and newer suspicions, and you felt the weight of the silver chain around your neck not as a symbol of office, but as a noose slowly tightening. It was a heavy thing, the...
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