The Pale Tower
The rain does not fall so much as it accumulates, a heavy, industrial gray curtain that blots out the sun and turns the cobblestones of the city into a slick, reflecting mirror of the soot-stained sky above, and you stand at the center of this wet, humming chaos, holding in your gloved hands the cold, unyielding weight of the seal, that intricate piece of brass and bone that has been passed...
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