The Pale Exile

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2026-08-20 11:00:22 -

The Pale Exile

The rain fell like a curse. It hammered the slate roofs of Harrowgate. The stones were slick. The air smelled of wet iron and rot. Silas Vane stood in the mud. His sword was drawn. His hands shook. Not from fear. From cold. From rage. He was a man of the law. A keeper of the peace. In this town, peace was a fragile thing. It hung by a thread. That thread was his duty. His honor. But honor was a...

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