The Pale Circus
The feast of Duke Avarice was a spectacle of excess that made the air taste of stale wine and rotting fruit. Sir Kaelen sat at the edge of the long table, his armor polished to a dull shine, his hands resting on the white linen as if they were bound. He was forty years old, a knight of the Order of the Pale, and he had come to this banquet for one reason only: to secure the pension that would...
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