The Pale Exile
The great hall of the Ironwood Citadel was a cavern of stone and shadow, where the air hung heavy with the scent of tallow, roasted meat, and the metallic tang of old blood, and here, beneath the vaulted ceilings that seemed to press down upon the shoulders of the gathered lords, Sir Alaric Thorne stood not as a king, but as a sentinel of the threshold, his armor polished to a mirror sheen that...
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