The Wistful Ashes
The hall smelled of roasted pork and wet wool, a thick, cloying scent that clung to the stone walls of the Keep. Below the high vaulted ceiling, where the shadows pooled like spilled ink, the Great Hall was alive with the low hum of a hundred conversations. Candlelight flickered against the tapestries, casting long, dancing distortions of the nobles seated at the long oak table. They laughed,...
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