The Pale Altar

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2026-08-19 16:57:01 -

The Pale Altar

The rain fell in sheets, cold and relentless against the stone of the Citadel. It was a sound like static, a constant hiss that masked the world outside the walls. Thomas Ashworth stood at the edge of the rampart. His boots were wet. The leather had stiffened with the damp, binding his ankles like shrouds. He did not move. He watched the gate below. The iron portcullis was half raised. A single...

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