The Golden Oath
The rain did not fall so much as it invaded, a cold, relentless sheet that turned the ancient stone walls of the Keep into slick, weeping monuments to a war that would not end. Inside the Great Hall, the air was thick with the smell of wet wool, stale ale, and the metallic tang of old blood that seemed to seep from the very mortar. Thomas Bradshaw sat on the high dais, his armor polished to a...
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