The Distant Temple
The feast in the great hall of Ashworth Manor was a thing of excess, a sprawling testament to a prosperity that felt less like wealth and more like a burden. The air was thick with the scent of roasted venison, stale wine, and the heavy, cloying perfume of lilies that lined the long oak table. Sir Edward Ashworth sat at the head, his posture rigid, his face a mask of polite exhaustion. He was a...
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