Dread the word, the opened eyes
As Endwar looms and spreads its lies,
Despise the whispers, fate and flight
Within a world which knoweth no light –
Depart, my heart, your innocence gone
Depart the dark, mortality gone
Take ear, the dragon begs you go
And so below, the childe goed on...
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.
Holy chooser of those to be slain that he is (the sodden coward), Saint Leuthar’s cosmic cast-net hauls in souls from every quarter – willing or no – to lump into this mad Slough of Despond the story has become. Welcome Home’s second book builds or seems to build a world around Rygnir in his blind quest to find Wingdale, with wars and rumours of wars coalescing into a conflict monstrous enough to snap the febrile skein of reality, enough to halt the Sun in His course, enough to bring about the finalmost ending of the world which it has craved for so long. But Rygnir cares not.
Do not be discouraged. You’ve made it this far, and discouragement is the last thing you need for the last slog up the karst and tussock slope to the cloud-breaching peak and that whiff of last Sunlight a ruined world can muster.
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