The Pale Shadows
"Aldric. Hold the line." The voice of Lord Vane cut through the howling wind outside the gates of Oakhaven, sharp as a whip crack against the air. Sir Aldric stood before the massive oak doors, his hand resting on the hilt of his sword, the metal cold against his palm despite the sweat that slicked his brow. He was forty years old, a man whose face had been carved by two decades of service to...
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