The Distant Crown
The rain had not stopped for three days, a relentless, gray curtain that blurred the boundary between the stone walls of the Keep and the churning waters of the moat below, and it was within this damp, suffocating enclosure that Sir Cedric Ashworth stood, his hand resting on the hilt of a sword that had not been drawn in forty years, listening to the rhythmic, hollow thud of the water against...
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