The Golden Song
The fire in the great hearth of Blackwood Manor does not roar; it whispers, a low, rasping sound like dry leaves skittering over stone, and you sit at the head of the long oak table, your armor polished to a mirror sheen that reflects the trembling faces of the courtiers who have gathered to celebrate the King’s victory, a victory that tastes of iron and ash in your mouth. You are Lord Aldous,...
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