The Faded Photograph
The hall smells of wet wool, roasted chestnuts, and the heavy, cloying sweetness of spiced wine that has been sitting in the barrels too long. You are standing in the center of the great oak floor, your armor clanking softly against the polished wood as you shift your weight, the sound sharp and intrusive in the sudden silence that has fallen over the feast. Around you, the lords and ladies sit...
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