The Pale Altar

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2026-08-24 16:38:31 -

The Pale Altar

In the high peaks of Aethelgard, the air was thin enough to strip the soul from the body. Bertha Sturgis sat in the scriptorium, her fingers stained with ink that smelled of iron and rot, transcribing the whispers of the Pale Altar. The relic stood in the corner, a slab of bone-white stone that hummed with a frequency only she could hear. It spoke in the voice of her husband, Elias, who had...

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