Ulvath, the Dying King's Champion
Ten Thousand Gates > Conversing in the Doorway of the First Coin

This is no clean, cold hurt of ax and battle - it is the burn of witchery! I'll curse it yet and again, and so long as any will listen, aye!

It burns you less woman, that I'll wager against my ax on a cast of the bone runes. You speak with the tongue of the witches who bedded trolls in Skara forest - sharp and a-babble with that best unknown to hard ax and long spear. Your witchery and knifes may stand beside my ax-arm, but that is no choice of Ulvath's.

A bard of Tallath's Hearth spoke a saga of the Tulsrealm as all but a dream of the Gods. Twas but a year past that trolls maddened by warmth and rot came upon the Hearth and tore him asunder. I and ten more strong ax-arms hacked trolls to blood and screams by torchlight that night - and how is that a dream?

Would that this place of blackened rain and hovels be a dream, aye, but that thrice-cursed Maggat would find a way betwixt knife and neck whilst I slumbered. No, Ulvath is awake; this is the workings of Maggat and demon runes against the King and Tulsrealm.

[ Posted by Reason on October 1, 2006 ]