The Pale Banner
The mud beneath your boots is thick and black, sucking at your heels as you run, the air tasting of iron and wet wool. You are bleeding from a gash above your left eye, the blood trickling down your cheek to mix with the rain that has been falling since dawn, a cold, relentless sheet that blurs the world into a grey smear. In your hand, you grip a sword that feels too heavy, its hilt slick with...
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