The Faded Shield
The ink did not dry on the parchment, but it had long since dried in the blood of the men who had sworn it, and Thomas Bradshaw stood in the center of the great hall, feeling the weight of the silence that had settled over the assembled knights like a shroud of wet wool. He was the Keeper of the Oath, a title that carried no gold and no land, only the burden of ensuring that the words spoken in...
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