The Pale Exile

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2026-08-24 08:52:59 -

The Pale Exile

The frost had already claimed the ivy on the north wall of the Hall, turning the green tendrils into brittle, black lace that crunched underfoot, and you stood in the center of the Midwinter Feast, feeling the specific, hollow ache of a man whose livelihood is being picked apart by teeth he cannot see. You wanted only your pension, the steady stream of coin that would keep the damp from...

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