The Pale Bridge

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2026-08-24 02:18:01 -

The Pale Bridge

The parchment was damp, the ink smeared by the humidity of the hall, but the seal was intact. Sir Aldous held it in his gauntleted hand, the wax cracked in a single, jagged line. It was a pardon. It was also, according to the man standing before him, a forgery. The feast hall of the Pale King was a cavern of stone and smoke, the air thick with the scent of roasted boar and old iron. Candles...

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