The Pale Banner
The quill was heavy in your hand, its nib worn flat from three years of scratching the names of the living onto the vellum of the Royal Census. You held it not to write, but to steady yourself against the cold stone of the desk, the smell of wet ink and old dust rising to meet you before your eyes adjusted to the dim light of the scriptorium. Outside, the mist of the valley of Kael clung to the...
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