The Wistful Show
The fire in the great hall of Blackwood Keep roared like a living thing, devouring the oak logs and sending sparks spiraling up into the dark, soot-stained rafters. It was a feast for the end of the world, or so it seemed to Sir Aldric. The table was long, carved from a single slab of stone, and laden with roasted boar, honeyed apples, and jugs of ale that frothed over their rims. Men in...
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