The Pale Tower
The wool of your tunic has thinned to a translucent gray, worn down by the friction of a decade spent patrolling the borderlands of the King’s dominion. You feel the fabric not as a layer of protection but as a second skin that has lost its integrity, frayed at the elbows and shoulders where the weight of your sword belt has ground away the fibers until they hang like loose threads, fragile and...
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