The Wistful Mountain
The feast in the Great Hall of Blackwood Keep was a loud, chaotic thing, the kind of noise that felt like it was being stuffed into the ears of the living by the dead. Long tables groaned under the weight of roasted boar and barrels of ale that had gone warm in the stagnant air. Torches flickered against the high stone walls, casting long, dancing shadows that seemed to whisper secrets to...
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