The Pale Shadows
The damp in the stone walls of Dunmore Keep did not smell of rot, but of old iron and cold sweat, a scent that had seeped into Sir Elias Thorne’s armor over twenty years of service. He stood before the barred window of the lower dungeon, his hands resting on the cold iron, watching the pale, translucent figures that drifted through the air of the cell. The locals called them the Pale Shadows,...
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