The Pale Protocol

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2026-08-18 03:38:59 -

The Pale Protocol

The banquet hall of the Citadel of Aethelgard smelled of roasted venison, stale ale, and the underlying, metallic tang of old blood that never quite washed out of the stone, and I sat at the far end of the long oak table with my hands trembling so violently that the silver chalice in my grip nearly spilled its contents onto the velvet tunic of Lord Malcom, who was currently engaged in a heated...

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