The Pale Path
The pick struck the stone, and the sound that followed was not the sharp *clack* of metal on rock, but a low, wet hum that vibrated in the marrow of Elias Vane’s teeth. He pulled his hand back, shaking the dust from his sleeve, his eyes adjusting to the gloom of the central drift where the light from his lantern wasnd around the massive, unyielding pillar. It was a pillar of pure, black...
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