The Faded Quadrant

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2026-08-20 17:53:04 -

The feast had been going on for three days, a relentless, rotting sweetness that filled the stone halls of Blackwood Keep with the cloying scent of overripe apples, stale wine, and the heavy, musky odor of too many bodies pressed together in the drafty great hall. Sir Alistair Thorne stood near the hearth, his hands wrapped around a goblet of dark red ale that had gone warm and flat, watching...

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