The Pale Mist
The rain did not fall so much as it hung, a suspended grey veil that choked the air of the Iron Hall, a stone fortress built into the living rock of the Scottish Highlands where the boundary between the seen world and the unseen had long since eroded into a slurry of mud and magic. Sir Kaelen Ashworth stood in the center of the circular chamber, his armor clinking softly with the weight of his...
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