The Pale Altar
The great hall of Ashworth Manor was a cavern of cold stone and thick velvet, where the air hung heavy with the scent of roasted pheasant, beeswax, and the metallic tang of old blood that never quite washed out of the grout, and in the center of this suffocating opulence stood Sir Edmund Ashworth, a man whose armor was less a shield than a cage of iron and pride, his gauntlets clenching and...
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