The Distant Legend
The feast was a thing of iron and wine, the long table groaning under the weight of roasted boar and the clatter of silverware that had seen better days. You sat at the far end of the hall, your armor still polished to a dull mirror despite the sweat that had begun to bead on your forehead. The air was thick with the smell of roasting fat, wet wool, and the metallic tang of blood that seemed to...
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