The Distant Metropolis

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2026-08-20 10:03:55 -

The feast hall of Blackwood Manor was a cavern of shadow and smoke, lit only by the guttering tallow of a hundred beeswax candles that trembled in the draft. The air was thick with the scent of roasted boar, spiced wine, and the heavy, metallic tang of fear that seemed to seep from the very stones. Sir Thomas Ashworth sat at the head of the long oak table, his posture rigid, his hands resting...

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