The Pale Banner

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2026-08-20 02:12:03 -

The Pale Banner

The ink is not black, but a deep, arterial red that smells of iron and old blood. You hold the quill in your right hand, the knuckles white, the paper trembling beneath your fingertips. It is a Tuesday, or perhaps a Wednesday; the distinction has lost its weight in the grey, suffocating silence of the city of Aethelgard. The rain has not stopped for three days. It taps against the leaded...

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