The Pale Tower

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2026-08-18 12:43:08 -

The Pale Tower

The rain in the capital did not fall; it descended, a grey curtain drawn tight against the windows of the Hall of Whispers. It was a sound that had worn into the bones of Sir Alistair Thorne, a rhythmic tapping that had become indistinguishable from the throb of his own pulse. He sat in the antechamber, a room of high vaulted ceilings and cold stone, waiting for the King. Alistair was a man...

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