Enemy hoards defy with pride the right of the childe who might have died, Denying him spite and its saving delight – To spit at a world which knoweth no light…
A burdening lash of penitence Whose mean the promise broke, The dragon’s potential allowed to unfurl Obsessive infatuate love of a girl; War for the sake of its own perpetuance, War for the world to choke; An end to your hope, an end to your lies, an end to the visions behind your eyes So cries the apocalypse vying to burgeon That Throne’s dominion cannot be opposed.
Black metal fantasy out of a dying world inspired by the NZ bush. Gruelling. Frigid. A return to a mindset when fairytales tales were a means of processing the world’s inexplicability.
And here we are, at the end of all things, a belated demise by the will of a king who only thought he was doing the right thing. There is little left of Rygnir’d body in Welcome Home’s final book that the trilogy hasn’t already stripped off his bones, but that doesn’t stop him. Someone else might, someone you might by now recognise. You’ll have to get there and work it out on your own. If you can get there.
Curse Throne and choose you a side It matters not which We are all going to lose.
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