The Pale Banner
The stone beneath your boots gives way with a sound like a bone snapping, dropping you into the sub-levels of the Whitehall Citadel, where the air is thick with the scent of damp rot and old iron. You are Caelen, thirty-two years old, a veteran of the Iron Guard, and your lungs burn with the effort of surviving the fall, your body a map of bruises and old scars that throb in the sudden silence....
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