The Wistful Grid
The feast was held in the great hall of the manor, a structure of stone and silence that had outlasted three kings and countless plagues. I sat at the head of the long table, my armor polished to a mirror sheen, reflecting the flickering candlelight and the anxious faces of my liegemen. The air was thick with the scent of roasted boar, spiced wine, and the metallic tang of old blood that never...
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