Hob and her allies race against a song to silence the desolate chorus before it can strangle the world.

CW: Description of strobing lights, death, violence, suffering, transformation, dismemberment

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Roll: Enter the Fray, Desolate Mound (avatar of the aurora), Extreme, Heart, +1 Bladebound – Strong Hit 

And so I ran, the massive hill of conjoined bodies towering over me before I was anywhere near close enough to strike. The writhing avatar of the blossoming aurora lifting its voices in chorus to the new green sun.

Roll: Strike, Iron, hunt the sun – Strong Hit, + 1 Harm from Keen, 4 harm (2 Progress)

Ishana, or what was once Ishana, noticed me too late. The head and torso twisted to level its arm of wood in my direction, and then branches burst forth, attempting to impale or entangle me. But the blade, that which had previously devoured the heart of the coiling thicket, was unbothered by these same tricks, its oily green glow arcing left and right as it cleaved and split the boughs.

And so I continued to run, closing in on it now, close enough to make out the faces and limbs of the mound’s warped components, both person and beast, fused and tied to a joined painful longing, the remnant of a dark power chained to foul purpose.

Roll: Strike, Iron, follow the blade’s tug – Miss, Complication (5 v. 5/5 but with 6 Momentum stored!) => Burn Momentum – Strong Hit, reversal!, +1 Harm from Keen, +2 Harm from Swordmaster, 6 harm (5 Progress)

And with each swing, with each split branch, the oily green pulsed brighter. And then I was amongst them, weaving and spinning, flashing blade claiming limb and leg, green iron turning aside claw and maw.

The chorus’ call began to shift, rising in tenor. No longer a tormented harmony of agony and hunger, now just the unified melody of pain. Ishana swayed atop the mound as I cleaved the paw from a gnarled bear, the head from a twisted stag, and the limbs from those who had once been Ironlanders. All now just dead flesh, falling to the floor of the field and dragging those they were fused to down with them.

Roll: Strike, Iron, +1 from Swordmaster burning momentum, the mound topples – Miss, Complication (oh no)

And too late, I realized that they fell towards me, the mound buckling from the dead weight of its slain components at my feet and toppling in my direction. And as its shadow took me, as I stared upward at the tumbling heap of flesh and metal and wood, as it eclipsed the green sun, the flickering lights behind it revived. No longer the soft flutter of veiled danger, returning once more to the blinding disorienting flash of peril awakened.

And then the mound crashed over me. Darkness and void, followed by pain and choked wind.

Roll: Endure Harm (-4), Iron, +1 Lightly Armored – Weak Hit, press on (0 Health) Ouch.

I could not move, I could not breathe. I was immediately aware of one hundred cuts and one thousand bruises. But the warcrew leathers had held. There was no pain that was so great that it could stop me from fighting (I hoped).

And then the blade awoke as well, its oily green illuminating the gaps between the branches and broken bodies that were piled atop us. Something was clawing at my arm, just out of sight, and what felt like teeth weakly clenched around my calf, the clicking grind of a broken jaw’s futile gnawing. Even in death, these wracked and blighted bodies had not found peace. 

The blade pulled, but there was no room to swing. We were buried. And as I tried to squeeze my arm through the crush to find Lightdrinker’s ebony handle, the mound shifted around me. The scrape of wood and iron, crushed flesh and still-weeping sores, the pull and roll of beast and person rising, dragging the fused and tangled remains of their slain as they shambled onward. The horror still lived!

Roll: Advance a Threat – Threat makes a dramatic play, 5 Menace; Oracles: Corrupt the environment, guarded shelter/fortified, world risk (oh no)

And then I felt the rumble, I felt the chorus. But it was not just the broken and tormented cries of the desolate mound and the warpkissed, there was a broader resonance. The Pillar and engraved tower, the entire valley, all raising their voices in preparation. The culmination of a great work, the realization of that which was about to come.

It was now close to achieving its goal, and I knew who had birthed this nightmare. Ishana and her fools, those Resurrectors, had attempted to use the tower and Pillar to fracture the Ironlands, to shatter its shell and, in doing so, resurrect the Old World and the Old Gods.

But that new Old World would reflect the tool used to create it, the fragment of That Which Hungers, the remnant of dark power bound to the tower. It would bear the twin marks of growth and consumption, forever twisting and grasping. An ancient dream of a terrible realm that should never exist. Instead of paradise, they had delivered doom, and all outside of this valley would soon transform as they had under the same tendrils’ kiss and warpfire touch. 

“When the budding pyre blossoms, when the vines erupt outward, stretching to strangle the world.”

And then the blade and Lightdrinker were singing to each other as well. A purring hum that grew into a chant of recollection, reminding each other of wrongs done and grudges held, renewing jealousy over the Resurrectors’ theft and misuse of their birthright, and bolstering and urging each other onward to act on those resentments. To reclaim what was once theirs and lash out at the fragment of that which first wielded them, to take retribution for some great betrayal that I did not yet fully understand.

I felt their sibling song, the shared echo and rhythm of hammer striking paired iron, and so I hummed along, the cadence building in my throat until it overpowered the dark chorus and its horrific dream.

Oracle: Would the warpfire consumed by Lightdrinker strengthen the song? Small chance – No (was worth a try)

Roll: Face Danger, Heart, a song of resentment – Miss (4 v. 4/4), Complication 

Roll: Endure Stress (-2), Heart, these are songs that can shatter souls – Weak Hit, press on (0 Spirit)

Mark Progress: Blade Vow – Forge mates, paired blades from the same ore, 2.0 Progress  (I don’t know why yet, but I feel that the blade and knife egging each other on and interacting in a manner more friendly than simple growls and hisses is an important development)

This is getting bad, that’s three misses with a match in short succession and I’m all out of momentum.

And as the oily green grew brighter, as Lightdrinker contributed its own flickering glow, I lost myself to the song. A song that could shatter souls, competing against a chorus that would devour worlds. But I was part of their chant now, my soul hummed with it, my bones resonated, and so I was not consumed.

And the dead bodies of beast and person recoiled from the pulse and flicker of the blades. Branches retreated while ferrous roots bent and bowed to escape the forge mates’ chant of paired iron. And then the pile of fused dead had passed over me like a wave, returning me to the blinding flash of the aurora, dropping me back into a world that was worse than when I had left it. A blossoming new realm of horror to thrive under the burgeoning green sun.

So I know I narratively failed forward on that last Face Danger, but it seemed more interesting to allow the escape, triple the Pay the Prices, and possibly create an ‘out of the pot and into the flames’ scenario.

Roll: Advance a Threat – The threat readies its next step. If you succeed in preventing this development, Reach a Milestone. Otherwise, mark menace.

Oracles: Transform its nature; abandoned crossing; protect path; reinforce defenses

All had changed in the time I’d been buried beneath the death heap. The circle of dirt had blossomed, as if a writhing thicket had erupted from the heart of each of the fallen warptouched, transforming the empty field into a forest of twisting branches and cracking limbs. 

Pushing through one thousand bruises to rise to my feet, I took it all in.

It was chaos. Under the blinding flashes of the green sun, both Sustainers and wolfen hacked and weaved and became ensnared by coiling limbs. Blood pooled and bodies crumpled, death and battle cries entwined. There were new horrors stalking amongst those trees, ravenous baying from just out of sight. I searched desperately for Pella amidst the confusion, but the flashing lights had grown more glaring and were again too bright to make out anything beyond simple form or motion.

No, the lights weren’t growing brighter. The shambling mound, which I had still been in the shadow of, was leaving, retreating back towards the engraved tower, the bodies that still stood dragging the fused corpses of their slain behind them.

And then, between the flashes, when the aurora’s lights paused, I saw the fracture in the sky. Between the tower and the Pillar beyond, the tear in the wind, the oily blue, smudged and blurring and spreading. And I understood. The desolate mound did not need to slay us, it only needed to protect the root, to defend the tower until the chorus concluded and the dancing lights fully blossomed. Until it could strangle the world.

“Mira!”

I spun to face the thicket. I knew that yell! It was Pella! She was close.

I glanced back to the retreating chorus. It was slow in its shambling, in its dragging. Maybe I could have beaten it to the tower, could have destroyed the root and ended its dream before it could stand in my way. But then I again heard Pella’s scream, she who I had journeyed to find, and that prospect was banished. 

‘Could haves’ were replaced by ‘must dos’ as I threw myself into the thicket in the direction that I thought I had heard her cry. The chorus and its heart would have to wait.

Oracle: Can I reach Pella through the blossoming thicket? 50/50 – Yes (then the choice is made)

Roll: Face Danger, Heart, Help Pella! – Strong Hit!

Oracles: Is Pella able to fight? 50/50 – Yes; is Mira injured? Yes; is Talan there? No; Mokhel? Yes; is Mokhel injured? No

The blade followed without question. In fact, it was soon pulling me forth, hurling and hacking through the branches. It had a fondness for Pella as well, and so I thanked it for its aid.

And soon we found them. The thicket had captured Mira, one large root coiling up from the earth to grasp her legs and chest while a bough from above spiraled around her shield arm. Lifting, yanking and twisting, snapping her arm as it tried to tear her in half. Her face showed only silent pain, her wind having been dragged out of her by the steady tormenting pull.

Pella and Mokhel were struggling to help her. Mokhel jumping and swinging Mira’s axe at the bough that held her arm while Pella screamed in frustration, stabbing at the thick root with her spear in desperation. The root dragged, the bough pulled, and the two Sustainers raged helplessly to free their captain.

But then I was among them, and the flashing green with me. I leapt and the blade cleaved bough, releasing Mira’s broken arm to hang limply at her side. I knelt and set the iron against the root, which fled the blade’s glow, laying Mira to the ground as it retreated back into the dirt. All of the thicket recognized the sway of the oily green, and so the branches recoiled from it, abandoning their prey and withdrawing to create a small clearing.

I embraced Pella, one quick moment, before we turned to Mira. Mokhel was cradling her head. She was alive and awake! But her arm hung limply against the dirt, shattered and twisted, likely never to carry a shield again.

Oracle: Does the warrior captain of the Sustainers keep her wits despite the pain? 50/50 – Yes (Damn right she does)

She waved off Mokhel’s care and pushed herself up with her good arm, grunting through the pain to bring her feet under her.

“Hob! What is this? What’s happening!?”

“It blossoms! The end approaches!” I knew no other way to explain swiftly. “Where’s Teegan?”

Pella pointed with her spear deeper into the thicket, “He was to the rear. With Talan.”

“I need to find him.” Mira took her axe back from Mokhel and forced herself to rise to her feet, growing more steady with each inch as she searched for and found her strength. And when she stood tall, weathered and broken but unbeaten, I first truly knew her. For the first time, I truly understood the person she was, the rough seas she was capable of navigating. 

Eyes now focused, a ray of sun piercing storm clouds, “Hob, are you able to end this?”

“I have to be!” The sibling hum of blade and knife. “Yes, I am able.”

She gave a simple nod, an acknowledgement that I would do so, and turned to enter the thicket in search of Teegan, gasping with each step yet still carrying herself forward. Mokhel, having retrieved his bow from the ground where he had dropped it for Mira’s axe, offered a smile before joining her. A small smile that meant many things. One of trust and pleading, one wishing luck and offering resolve, and one that held room for the possibility of being a goodbye. A small smile that I returned in kind.

Roll: Secure an Advantage, Heart, gather my allies – Strong Hit

“Shall we go hunting?” That swaggering grin, that daring wink.

I thought to tell Pella no, to beseech her to go with Mira. To explain to her, she who I had journeyed to find, that I could not bear to risk her, to be robbed of her in a fight that was not hers. But I would not, I had no claim to the glories she might seek. She would do as she pleased, and I would be thankful to have her at my side. I needed her by my side. I needed her eyes and her aim, her skill and her wit. I needed her swagger and faith. I needed Pella. Together, we could do anything.

So instead, I stepped in to kiss her, and as I pulled back, I offered a grin of my own, bold and bolstered. “Aye, we hunt the green sun.”

And she laughed in reply, throaty and ready for glory.

Roll: Is Mira’s shield still there and battle-ready? 50/50 – Yes (oh fuck yeah!)

And as we turned back to the lights, to face them together, I saw Mira’s shield lying on the ground, where it must have been torn from her during the struggle with root and bough. A sturdy blue and faded white to match the Piercing Swan’s sails. A stout board to carry us to our prey. I knelt and fitted it before we, hunter and hound, blade and knife, stepped from the clearing towards the heart and its tower, the branches of the thicket bowing to the oily glow and parting before us.

Mark Menace: 6 Menace (I did not prevent the Threat’s next readied step, instead I saved my kin, and so the menace grows)

The Threat’s menace is now tied with the Vow’s progress (both at 6). If the menace track fills before I Fulfill the Vow, it wins. Leaving no room to retreat or pause, the only path away from doom is forward, so long as the dice allow it.

As we cleared the trees, back to the aurora and the pulsing sun, I saw what the desolate mound had been up to while I was away. It had rooted itself before the gate of the tower, actual roots of iron and bone, while freshly blossomed limbs of wood and vines of flesh spread outward from the base of the pile, spilling warped horror across the dirt towards us and the forest. And atop it, perched a terrible beacon. What was once Ishana had further transformed as well, flesh softened and bloated, skin translucent and radiant, and weeping mouths and hungry eyes all uplifted in chorus to the fracturing sky.

Then came the wave of unnatural awe, causing us to retch at the sight of it. And as we steadied ourselves, gulping wind to force down the sickness, more figures stepped from the thicket, joining us on the border between chaos and horror, the shrinking stretch of dirt that remained between the warptouched forest to our rear and the devouring pain pouring forth from the chorus before us. 

It was the blue braids and two of their pack mates, a large copper coated wolfen and one smaller, almost black, with crimson tipped fur. The blue braids said nothing, I would not have heard their grumbling growls over the mound’s swelling chorus if they had. But from their eager eyes, their grinning snarl, their snout nodding in greeting, no words were needed. Our purposes were aligned, and so we would hunt together. 

Pella clasped my shoulder, a grip firm and unwavering, mossy eyes glistening with confidence and buried fear. She was resolved.

And so I was resolved. Screaming over the valley’s expectant wail, “I need to reach the tower!”

That brash smirk. “You will!” 

And I knew that she spoke truth, that she would make it so.

Then the blade began its chitter. Oily green pulsed with eager wrath, no longer to be delayed from its birthright. The barely heard crackle of warpfire, Lightdrinker murmuring at anticipated retribution. Then the tug started as the thread to the engraved tower began its pull, and I stepped forward to follow. And as I broke into a jog, and then a run, Pella fell in behind me.

And then the blue braids again let loose the bloodcall. The fierce cry of pining aspiration and shared struggle, piercing through the chorus’ wail to fill the valley. Soon followed by the return calls of mournful acknowledgement and promised support, first from the throats of the copper giant and crimson tipped companions, before rising from the warped thicket behind us as the rest of the pack answered and rallied to the blue braid’s cry.

And as we rushed headfirst towards the rooted mound, as its fleshy vines snaked across the field to meet us, the blood-stained blade joined its voice to the pack. The impatient howl of the starving when promised feast.

Roll: Strike, Iron, hit it head on – Weak Hit; + 1 Harm from Keen, 3 harm (6.5 Progress), lose initiative

Before Pella and I could close the gap, the blue braids and their two companions hurled past us on all fours, leaping and drawing their twin blades in mid-air as they threw themselves into the fleshy vines.

And then Pella and I too were among them, hacking and stabbing through writhing sinew, blood spraying over us and pooling at our feet. But when cleaved and split, the vines fought on, the jagged tips of sheared bone at their severed ends continuing to pierce and lunge. Pella moved close to my back, thrusting and jabbing her spear as the blade kept the undying flesh at bay, green arcs and crimson spray.

But I would not let them stall us, encircle and impale us, and so I willed us forward.

Roll: Face Danger, Iron, +1 for Shield-bearer, charge through – Weak Hit; Endure Harm (-1 taken as Momentum since at 0 Health), Iron, +1 Lightly Armored – Weak Hit, press on (0 Health, 6 Momentum)

“Stay close!” I screamed over my shoulder as I lifted Mira’s shield and charged onward, pushing through the fleshy vines towards the desolate chorus. Jagged bone nipped and prodded at my shoulders, but the leathers held. And then we had reached the base of the mound, the roots of iron and bone that supported the screaming mountain of fused flesh and wood. 

And the roots were digging, the shake and rumble of boney spines erupting from the earth to lance and spear us while articulated limbs of wood and sagging skin strained down from above to catch us in their barbed claws and drag us back to their wailing maws. 

Roll: Clash, Iron, close enough to fight back – Strong Hit!, +1 Harm from Keen, 4 harm (8.5 Progress)

Yet we climbed upward, boots slipping over weeping flesh and bark covered faces. And then the mountain was shifting, and Pella stabbed her spear into its muscle and sinew to keep her footing, gripping the haft strongly with one hand while wrapping her other arm tightly around my waist so that I could still wield Mira’s shield to protect us and the blade was free to continue its work.

And as I swung to and fro in Pella’s trusted embrace, blocking barb with board while the blade claimed bone and skin and wood and blood, the blue braids and their crimson and black companion were beside us, slashing and hacking and cleaving and stabbing with their twin blades. Eventually, the shifting settled and, nodding welcome and thanks to our wolfen allies, we advanced together. The firstborn called, the blade howled, and the chorus screamed.

We were close to the crest of the mountain now, nearing the horrible beacon atop. The bloated translucent form of what used to be Ishana lowered her dozen eyes from the fracturing sky and set her horrid gaze upon us, her skin pulsing to match the tear in the wind and flashing lights. And then the largest of her mouths, covering most of where her face had once been, added a harmony to the triumphant chorus, a song just for us, a simpler song for a smaller meal. 

And I realized that something dire was about to transpire. I felt my braids lift as the electric air began to gather and swirl. And I understood that we would soon be made to join in Ishana’s suffering. We needed to act!

It’s time to risk ending the fight, with initiative and allies at my side. Further delay will likely mean tragedy.

And then I felt Pella’s grip on my shoulder, holding me to steady herself as she drew back her spear. Grasping what she was about to do, I plunged the blade into the flesh at our feet and kneeled, becoming as a stone for her to anchor herself to from the mound’s tremoring hum and swelling harmony.

And then she let loose the spear. A perfect throw, piercing the gaping maw that was Ishana’s face and driving through the back of her skull.

Pella the Brave, Pella the Brash, Pella of keen sight and true aim! She who I had journeyed to find.

And as the head whipped back, lifting the haft of the spear skyward, the wolfen closed the gap, falling upon Ishana to slash and rip and rend the bloated form with twin blades and strong jaws. Tearing limb and eye and flesh as they released themselves to the frenzied hunt.

Roll: End the Fight, 8.5 Progress, stop the harmony – Weak Hit (uh oh, there’s going to be some consequences)

Mark Progress: Uproot the Vines – Defeat the Desolate Mound, 7 Progress

And as the beacon, what had once been Ishana, was rended asunder, as the mound began to slowly unravel and collapse into itself, there was a moment of celebration. Pella whooped as I embraced her waist and lifted her in triumph.

But then the song started its next verse, even as the mountain broke apart and crumbled. It was not the many mouths of the chorus that were singing though, it was the fracture in the sky itself, no longer needing their voice, its own now strong enough to carry beyond the steep walls of the valley without accompaniment.

Roll: Advance a Threat – The threat readies its next step. If you succeed in preventing this development, Reach a Milestone. Otherwise, mark menace.

Oracles: Expand its malignancy to surround lands (44 = match)

And then I understood, my own folly in the face of triumph. The blade and Lightdrinker, when purposes aligned, could sever the root. But their proximity was also feeding it. The flickers of recognition from the fragment of That Which Hungers were provoking the lights to excite and quiver. I was the reason the sky now fractured, the reason the chorus now sang, the reason its voice now escaped the valley to strangle the world. Me. The closer I had brought the blade and knife to the heart of the blossoming aurora, the closer I had carried it towards completion of its consuming purpose.

I had hastened this doom.

Roll: Endure Stress (-4 taken as Momentum since Spirit is already at 0), Heart – Weak Hit, press on (0 Spirit, 2 Momentum)

As the chorus carried itself, climbing cliff and mount to pour out of the valley and transform or consume all that I’d ever known. As the fracturing sky ripped and widened to cast even more blinding green light across the world and again robbed me of sight. As the mound halted its collapse, shifting and shuttering while it reconstructed itself into some new horror of flesh and wood and tearing Pella from my grasp as it did so. And as I screamed for Pella, blind and alone, hearing no response but the swelling song. As I lost myself to desolation, to the despair of failure and annihilation, I felt a tug at my heart.

The sibling tugs of paired iron. Reminders of purpose and task. Reminders of vows made and trust given. And with those reminders came promises of their own, offerings of aid, pleading to assist.

*Just just hold tight so that we might carry you there.*

Roll: Face Danger, Heart, a sibling song and purpose aligned – Strong Hit!

The blade and knife pulled, and I let them take me, over the churn of the reassembling mountain and through the glare and thunder of promised suffering. Until, just like that, the floor had ceased to shift and the lights no longer blinded. But the song remained. It resounded, its chorus reverberating and building upon itself as it surged towards its conclusion.

I paused to steady my legs and steady my wind, blinking to adjust to the relative darkness. The siblings’ song had carried me through the gate. We had reached the tower, the end of the thread!

It was empty, one massive chamber, a peaked hall surrounded by ancient engraved walls. And high above me, where the voices of the desolate song intermingled and gathered, where the walls narrowed towards the pinnacled ceiling, there were windows, flowing and snaking runes cut from the walls of the tower to allow in patterns of the green sun. And the rune patterned rays of the aurora were all converging in the heart of the great chamber, dancing and weaving across the blue iron floor to form a shape at its center.

A thick knotted root of translucent greens, rising out from the iron floor for a time before again burying itself. The exposed heart of the blossoming aurora!

The blade pulled and the knife tugged, but I was already staggering forward, letting Mira’s shield fall to the floor as I drew Lightdrinker with my off hand. The song was at its ending now, fully drowning out the sibling hum of paired iron as it began its final line of exalted suffering and jubilant hunger.

But I did not need to hear the kinblades’ whispers to know what came next. Half stumbling, half carrying each other, we dragged ourselves forward. And as the heart wailed its final beat and pulse, I stabbed the ebony-hilted knife into the exposed root and then, gripping the bone overhead with both hands, swung the blade down with a collapsing roar. The last of my wind to silence the desolate chorus.

Mark Progress: Uproot the Vines – Stop the chorus before it fully escapes the valley, 8 Progress (for thwarting the Threat’s readying plans)

Narratively, it is time to put an end to this, to fulfill the vow and try to destroy the threat. Progress is at 8, so there is still a chance of failure, and, based on the fiction, that failure would be catastrophic. So here goes nothing, nerves layered upon nerves.

Roll: Fulfill Your Vow, uproot the vines and destroy the heart of the blossoming aurora (8 Progress) – Weak Hit, there is more to be done, -1 XP for Weak Hit, +1 XP Bannersworn, 3 XP

I will gladly take a weak hit over a miss! Well I guess it’s time for a dozen oracle rolls to try and make sense of this.

Oracles: Dreadful omens, provisions are scarce, unjust leadership, someone returns unexpectedly, the enemy gains new allies, you see a troubling vision of your future, initiate corruption, unnatural material, hide/reveal honor/ability

As the root was pierced and cleaved by paired iron, the translucent greens began to fragment and crack, and within lay what we sought. The remnant. A fragment of That Which Hungers, sparking warpfire and writhing runes.

And as the desolate chorus stuttered and stalled, the siblings’ song was renewed. Whispers of spite and fury, a list of wrongs suffered and reprisals sought. Murmurs of bitterness and loathing towards they who had become a god, they who had made their mark on and thus been marked by the Pillars, they who had claimed their power and crafted their tools through the sacrifice of their kin. They who were never satisfied.

The forge mates voiced their resentments. For servitude, birthed through horror and forever chained to their creator’s purpose. For agency stolen, their dreams just the ripples and flickers of their crafter’s ravenous ambitions and desires. And for abandonment, built for task and discarded when their forger’s aspirations had been fulfilled.

But That Which Hungers would guide them no more. That Which Thirsts would drown its former master, rendering them within the crackling seethe of warpfire. That Which Feasts would finally truly feed, for once inheriting what it was rightly owed. They bore the mark of their master, forever yearning and longing, and so they would take what was theirs.

And the hound, the hound would finally find her truth, what lay at the other ends of those far and distant threads. Truths that she might wish never to have learned, about splinters of That Which Hungers that had escaped the flooded valley, gliding atop the dancing tendrils in search of those like it, other remnants of dark power across wave and mount.

Truths that became known through waking visions. The new dreams of the blade, the future memories of That Which Feasts. Dreams of tall waves filling the fjord and consuming Autumnrush, leaving Pillar Hill an island atop a drowned city. Dreams of blighted fields and starved bodies, the Havens devoured by famine and conflict. And dreams of flight, soaring above the coast, seeking prey through ravaging eyes.

There was more to be done. New horrors and terrors stirring at the edges of the Ironlands. But for now, That Which Feasts would feed, That Which Thirsts would purr, and the hound would dream.

That which hungers, that which feasts, that which thirsts for flames to drink.

That which guides, that which drowns, that which cleaves and bleeds and hounds.