The Wistful Letter
The feast hall of Blackwood Keep smells of roasting boar and stale wine, a thick, cloying scent that coats the back of your throat and settles into the pores of your skin. You stand at the edge of the tapestry, your hand resting on the cold iron of your sword hilt, feeling the vibration of the drums through the stone floor. The Lord of the Keep, a man whose face is hidden behind a mask of...
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