The Pale Tower
The rain did not fall so much as it hung in the air, a fine, gray mist that settled into the crevices of my armor and the folds of my cloak, weighing me down with a cold that seeped into the marrow. I had walked for three days through the highlands, following the path that led up to the keep of Lord Harrow, a structure of black stone that seemed less built than grown from the hillside itself....
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