The Pale Verdict
The iron gates of the manor groaned against the rusted hinges as I walked out for the last time, the heavy oak doors of the estate closing behind me with a finality that felt less like a sound and more like a severing of bone. I carried with me only a satchel of tools and a map drawn on vellum, the parchment brittle and yellowed, tracing the invisible veins of ley lines that pulsed beneath the...
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