The Pale Shadows
The iron pommel of your sword weighs exactly three pounds, four ounces, a weight you have carried for twelve years of service in the court of Aethelgard. You count the seconds between your breaths as you stand in the antechamber, the air thick with the scent of wet stone and the metallic tang of old blood that never quite washes out of the flagstones. Lord Vane is waiting for you, his back to...
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