The Pale Altar
The dream was always the same, a viscous black ichor seeping from the mortar of the palace walls, a localized hemorrhage of the stone itself that marked the beginning of Aldric’s slow, physical decay. He woke in the year of our Lord 1342, his body already aching with a wasting sickness that the court physicians called the Grey Withering, though in the rigid eyes of the King’s council, it was...
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