The Pale Altar

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2026-08-24 18:42:48 -

The Pale Altar

I. My hands were red, the knuckles split from the pickaxe, when Goro spat on my boots. The spittle hit the leather, cold and sharp, a small insult in the vast, grinding dark of the salt-mines. I did not wipe it off. I stood there, the weight of the iron tool in my palms, feeling the cold snap that had burst the pipes in the barracks seep into my bones. We were in the deep sector now, where the...

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