The Golden Cellar
The feast was a riot of gold and grease, a sensory assault that left Wulfric with a taste of copper and stale wine on his tongue. He sat at the edge of the long oak table in the cellar of the Hall, watching the candlelight dance on the curved walls of stone. The air was thick, heavy with the scent of roasting boar, beeswax, and the underlying, sweet rot of the earth that pressed against the...
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