The Pale Tower
The rain had been falling for three days, a persistent, grey drizzle that turned the courtyard into a slick of mud and turned the air inside the manor into a thick, damp wool that clung to the skin. You stand in the cellar, your constable’s boots squelching in the stagnant water that pools around the stone steps, the smell of wet earth and rotting wood filling your lungs until you feel the...
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