The Distant Blade
The candlelight in the Great Hall of Ashworth Manor does not merely illuminate the feast; it consumes the shadows, devouring them until the very air shimmers with a golden, oppressive heat that settles into the marrow of your bones. You sit at the lower end of the long oak table, your hands folded in your lap, knuckles white from the tension that has been building since the first bell tolled at...
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