The Wistful Voyage
The banquet hall smelled of roasted lamb and stale wine, a thick, cloying scent that clung to the back of your throat and made it difficult to breathe in the crowded, dimly lit chamber where the lords of the northern territories had gathered to feast before the storm. You sat at the far end of the long oak table, your hands wrapped tightly around a chalice of dark ale, your eyes fixed on the...
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