The Pale Tale

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2026-08-21 19:45:26 -

The Pale Tale

The feast hall of Castle Blackwood smells of roasted boar, stale ale, and the metallic tang of old blood. You sit at the high table, your armor polished to a mirror sheen, reflecting the flickering torchlight. Your sword, *The Pale Blade*, rests against your hip, its hilt worn smooth by the grip of your father, and before him, his father before him. The blade is not just steel; it is a vessel,...

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