The Pale Exile

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2026-08-19 16:20:40 -

The Pale Exile

The snow fell in sheets of grey wool. It muted the world. Silas stood alone in the courtyard of the Blackspire. His armor clinked softly. He did not move. The wind bit at his face. It carried the scent of rotting pine and old iron. He held a single object in his hands. It was a thorn. A pale, twisted thorn from the Whispering Tree. It pulsed with a faint, sickly light. It was the only thing in...

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