The Pale Banner
The cold in your bones is not the cold of the night, but the cold of the glass forming over your left arm. You stand in the Arena of Whispers, the air thick with the metallic tang of old blood and newer fear, and you hold the Pale Banner. It is a living cloth, a thing of grey silk that breathes against your chest, drinking the guilt of its bearer. Your name is Elias Thorne, Captain of the Pale...
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