The Pale Meridian
The banquet hall of Kael was a cavern of polished granite and dripping torchlight, the air thick with the smell of roasting venison and the stale, metallic tang of old sweat. Elias Thorne stood at the center of the circular table, his back rigid against the cold stone of the dais, while the High Steward, a man named Vane whose face was as unyielding as the walls he governed, poured wine into a...
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