The Pale Circus

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2026-08-23 23:52:06 -

The Pale Circus

The year is 1347, and the High Pass smells of wet wool and the metallic tang of impending snow. You are Sir Aldric of the Order of the Pale Stag, forty years old, your joints a map of grinding friction and your lungs a bellows that wheezes with every step. You want to complete the final patrol before your retirement, a duty that will secure your pension and preserve the honor you have bled for...

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