The Pale Tower
The ironwood table stood at the center of the great hall like a monolith of dark earth, its surface unyielding and cold, reflecting the flickering torchlight in jagged, fractured lines. Around it, the air was thick with the scent of oiled leather and the metallic tang of blood that had not yet dried from the floorstones. Aldric Vane, Master Artificer to the Crown, stood with his back to the...
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