The Faded Shield
The hall of the Old Ironworks was a cavern of dust and memory, where the air hung thick with the scent of stale beer, wet wool, and the metallic tang of old blood. It was the sort of place that did not welcome the living so much as it tolerated their presence, a relic of the industrial age that had long since rusted into silence, yet tonight it thrummed with a low, vibrating energy that seemed...
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