The Pale Banner
You wake with the taste of iron in your mouth, the metallic tang of old blood and rusted hinges. The dream has not faded; it clings to you like wet wool, heavy and cold. In the dream, the banner was white, but here, in the waking world of the Hall, it is a pale, sickly yellow, stained by time and the damp that seeps through the stones of the ancestral home. You are the investigator, though you...
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