Dark Age

Using the bones of our braves fallen in the Rain, I saw a griffin in the flames. Winged and stained red, red as the eyes of a Helldiver. And the gray smoke that formed above the griffin took the shape of a fox, one old and cunning, but held back by thorns of darkness.

Even if you survive this walk, you can never best Darrow,

lying is not a science, it is an art. And art will always be a human language