As the everhungry do break our shore,
Bloodless, ceaseless, dead reborn.
The ache to conquer in their maw.
Blessed are we with Father's Flame,
His watching light all but their bane.
The Wickede Dread, he gifts us too,
His own devout, a wicked tool.
Bestowed from the Mother, the only cure,
Warriors of lineage pure.
These princes birthed of light and dark.
Shall scourge this earth of this evil's mark.
- "The Scourge of Nightfall", as prophesied Sister Athabel,
Year 814 of the Holy Flame
YOU ARE READING
The Blood Witch
FantasySnarky, violent and awaiting execution, Sasha Velwin spends her last night in the iron chains of the royal dungeon. Her crimes? Heresy, desertion and practicing blood magic. Wilful, dashing and about to be sold into marriage, Princess Alysha will d...
