The Pale Shadows
The iron bites deep. You feel it in the teeth, a cold shock that races up the jaw and settles behind the eyes. The mud of the valley floor is thick, sucking at the boots of the men who follow you. They are silent. The mist hangs low, a grey shroud that clings to the stone walls of the old fortification. You are the Warden of the Hollow. The title is heavy. It sits on your shoulders like a yoke...
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