The Faded Shield
You stand in the center of the Great Hall, the stone cold under your boots. The air is thick with the smell of wax and old dust. Around you, the pillars rise like the ribs of a dead god. You are here to be judged. Or perhaps to be saved. It is hard to tell the difference anymore. The court is assembled. They sit in tiers of velvet, their faces pale and smooth as clay. You look at them. They...
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