The Pale Banner
The rain has been falling for three days, a cold, persistent sheet that blurs the horizon into a grey smear of mist and mud, and you stand at the edge of the village of Oakhaven, your hand resting on the hilt of the heavy iron key that hangs from your neck, its surface worn smooth by generations of anxious palms before yours. It is a cold morning, the kind that seeps into the bones and settles...
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