The Golden Quest
The rain fell in thin, silver needles against the high, arched windows of the Hall of Whispers, blurring the world outside into a smear of grey mud and distant, silent woods. Inside, the air was thick with the scent of beeswax and old parchment, a heavy, suffocating perfume that seemed to cling to the skin. Sir Alaric stood alone in the center of the circular chamber, his back to the great oak...
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