The Faded River
The great hall of the monastery smelled of wax and old stone. It was a place of silence, yet tonight it roared. The air was thick with the scent of roasted lamb and the sharper, metallic tang of spilled wine. Torches burned in iron sconces along the walls, casting long, dancing shadows that seemed to breathe against the vaulted ceiling. In the center, a long table stretched from one end of the...
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