Honor's Toll
Fraying burlap scratched the Dane Osrung’s face as the bag was pulled from his head and light returned to the world.
He knelt on weathered stone, in a great hall made entirely of the same. Iron sconces on the walls held torches, and their flickering light struggled to make up for the lack of windows. Dark wooden tables lined the sides of the room, covered in scorch marks from drifting embers and drenched in ale spilled from mugs in the hands of feasting king’s men.