The Pale Exile
Act I Rolf Becker, thirty-two, had worked for nine years in the Imperial Archive without a promotion, a raise, or a day of sick leave. His hands were permanently stained with iron-gall ink, the skin around his nails cracked and dry from the winter cold that seeped through the stone floors of the basement. He sat at his desk in the restricted sub-basement, a room that smelled of damp paper and...
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