The Golden Oath
The hall smells of roasted lamb and stale beer, a thick, cloying perfume that hangs in the air like a heavy fog, and you are sitting in the corner booth, your hands wrapped around a mug of ale that has long since gone warm, watching the firelight dance across the faces of the men who claim to be your brothers. They are laughing, their voices rising in a cacophony of clinking glass and...
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