The Distant Promise
The great hall of Castle Ashworth smells of wet stone and ancient, fermented blood. You stand at the foot of the dais, your armor a second skin, cold and heavy against your ribs. The banners above you are moth-eaten things, their once-vibrant heraldry faded to a ghostly grey, fluttering in a draft that seems to rise from the earth itself. You are the last knight of the Order of the Silent...
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