The Pale Altar
You stand at the edge of the town of Oakhaven, where the cobblestones give way to the muddy tracks of the surrounding moor, and you feel the weight of the iron key in your hand, a cold, heavy thing that seems to pull at your very marrow. It is not a large key, yet it feels as though it carries the mass of the entire world, or perhaps just the suffocating silence of the cellar you have spent...
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