The Pale Protocol
1347, October 12. The gates of St. Jude’s are barred. The Abbot has issued his decree, citing a divine quarantine that I recognize as nothing more than bureaucratic cowardice. I am trapped here with Mara, and the winter is already tightening its fingers around the valley. I want to finish my treatise on the transmission of the pestilence, to prove that it travels through the air, not through...
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