The Pale Protocol
The ink on the parchment is still wet, or perhaps it is merely the dampness of the cellar seeping into the fibers of the page, but the distinction is academic now that the rain has been falling for three days without pause, blurring the line between the stone walls of the keep and the wet earth outside. You sit in the corner where the shadows are thickest, your boots, once polished to a mirror...
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