The Pale Exile

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2026-08-20 11:18:22 -

The Pale Exile

The cold bit through your wool. It was a sharp, wet thing. You stood in the courtyard. Rain slicked the cobblestones. They shimmered like black oil. The tower loomed above you. It was the Spire of Saint Jude. It had no face. It had no name. Only the stone. Gray. Cold. Indifferent. You were the Inquisitor. That was what they called you. You carried the ledger. You held the seal. You were here to...

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