The Wistful Show
The rain fell in sheets of iron gray, hammering against the high, narrow windows of the Hall, a sound like the world itself was trying to break in and get lost in the damp, rotting wood of the floorboards. You stood in the center of the Great Hall, your armor cold against your skin, the weight of the mail biting into your shoulders like a vice that had been tightening for days. Around you, the...
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