The Pale Path
The iron key turned in the lock with a sound like a bone breaking, the jagged teeth biting into the ancient wood of the Keep’s outer gate. Sir Aldric of the Pale Order, his forty years of service written in the deep furrows of his face and the permanent stoop of his shoulders, forced the bolt home. He was not here to welcome guests; he was here to seal a tomb. Beyond the heavy oak, the air was...
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