The Pale Tale
Thorne, you stand like a man waiting for the axe, and you will not keep the cross steady if you do not plant your feet and let go of that damned pride. The voice of the Baron cut through the humid air of the great hall, sharp and wet as a knife drawn across a whetstone, silencing the fiddler who had been playing a tune that now seemed grotesquely inappropriate against the heavy, expectant...
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