The Distant Ghost
The feast in the Hall of Echoes was a grotesque parody of life, the tallow candles burning with a steady, sickly blue light that cast no shadows. You sit at the far end of the long table, your hands trembling not from the cold that seeps through the stone floor of Oren, but from the hunger that has hollowed you out for three days. The King, Aldric, sits at the head, his face obscured by the...
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