The Pale Exile

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2026-08-20 09:38:01 -

The Pale Exile

The fog does not lift. It settles. It presses against the windowpanes of the inn like a living thing, thick and grey, smelling of wet wool and old smoke. You are sitting in the corner, your hands wrapped around a mug of tea that has gone cold. You are waiting. The clock on the wall ticks with a heavy, wooden thud that seems to echo in the hollows of your chest. You have come here to find...

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