The Pale Door
The road is wet. It is a long, dark ribbon of mud and stone that cuts through the fog. You walk it. Your boots are heavy with the clay of the valley floor. The air is cold and tastes of iron. You carry a sword on your back. It is old. The steel is dark. You have walked for three days. Your muscles ache. The pain is a dull, constant drumbeat in your legs. You are a man of the law. You wear the...
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