In Which I Send A Flurry Of Ill-Advised Letters

Observe your narrator now, his heart freshly pulped, his ego pureed, as he sits alone in a tavern off the Great Valley Road, bedraggled and hammered. I had left infernal Bloodroot on a stolen horse and begun the journey home to my kingdom. Not that there seemed much point in being a king anymore. All I wanted to do was lie in the gutter and shout insults at the moon.

Continue reading →