The Pale Bonsai
The parchment was thick, heavy as a brick, and smelled of iron filings and stale sweat as Sir Aldric held it up to the tallow light. It was a writ from the Order of the Iron Veil, dated three days prior, demanding the immediate surrender of his ancestral home, Blackwood Manor, to fund the new war in the south, a war that had not yet begun but whose cost was already being calculated in acres of...
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