The Distant Blade
The banquet hall in the garrison of St. Jude’s, a crumbling outpost of stone and iron set deep within the fog-choked moors of the Scottish Highlands, was a cacophony of clinking silver and muffled laughter, yet Captain Elias Thorne sat in the corner, his eyes fixed upon the heavy oak table as if it were a battlefield awaiting an order that would never come. The air was thick with the scent of...
0 Comments 0 Shares 2 Views 0 Reviews