The Pale Banner
The feast was a riot of noise and scent. Roast lamb steamed in the center of the long oak table, its skin crackling under the weight of the tallow candles. The air was thick with the smell of burning wood, wet wool, and the metallic tang of spilled wine. It was the Harvest Moon, high and cold in the sky above the city of Ashworth, and the citizens had gathered to celebrate the end of a mild...
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