The Pale Banner
The air in the great hall of the castle of Ashworth was thick, not with the smoke of the hearth, which had long since burned down to a bed of white, silent ash, but with the heavy, cloying scent of roasted swan and spiced wine, a perfume that seemed to cling to the skin like a second, unwanted garment, and you stood at the edge of the table, your hand resting lightly on the hilt of the dagger...
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