The Pale Tale

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2026-08-18 16:30:11 -

The Pale Tale

The banquet hall of the old stone keep did not smell of roasted pork or spiced wine, but of wet ash and the metallic tang of old blood, a scent that had seeped into the very mortar of the walls over centuries and now rose to meet us as we descended into the cellar. I stood at the edge of the gathered crowd, a small figure in a threadbare coat, watching the lords and ladies move through the haze...

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