The Golden Harbor
The candlelight in Lord Malacor’s great hall did not merely illuminate the feast; it seemed to consume the shadows, leaving the air thick with the scent of roasted swan and the metallic tang of impending doom. You stood at the edge of the table, your quill poised over the vellum of the testament, your heart hammering a frantic rhythm against your ribs that felt too loud for the hushed reverence...
0 Comments 0 Shares 2 Views 0 Reviews