Welcome Home: Book One

Let me for you reveal the path of a beast-child fair,
A childe so wrong, yet forced to belong in this world that he could not bear,
Take heart, for you will not be alone – take ear, perceive the whispers of Home
And bring them word of grandfather’s death, retrieve your book and follow it there...

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.

The Welcome Home trilogy follows the self-imposed doom of Rygnir Wyndfallen, whom by Saint Leuthar is drawn across the face of the world with a hope, a hope of crying doom to the only person his grandfather ever mentioned in kindness and a failing grip on what little he has left worth believing in. A name, that’s all he’s got. An idea of a name with the membrane of history and knowing stuck to it from its birth. And any amount of prejudice or cruel distraction is worth the enduring to find she to whom his heart is bound. Probably.

It’s been described as archaic, a three steps forward, two steps back kind of affair. Someone said it was a literary Dark Souls, I particularly liked that one. Not many have toughed it out to the end.

Give it a go, if you’re hard enough. You will not like it.