The Distant Whispers

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2026-08-18 16:07:40 -

The feast was a thing of rotting magnificence, the long oak table in the great hall of the keep groaning under the weight of roasted boar, salted herring, and bread that had gone hard as stone, the air thick with the smell of woodsmoke and the cloying sweetness of overripe figs that threatened to burst on the silver plates. Ser Alistair sat at the head of the table, his armor polished to a...

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