[ He grasps the idea of mad men and martyrs, men driven by ambition and single-minded desires. Molding the world into their own images, praying to the bones of every forgotten saint, lost and buried in overgrown vales, twined into the nests of gargantuan birds, lost on the dark shores of the Unsea - among shrieking monsters that were once men. It's not a far leap from that to mad kings, dead realms. ]
Vengeance is its own currency.
[ Something sharp in grey eyes, as his mouth curls into a smile. ]
no subject
Vengeance is its own currency.
[ Something sharp in grey eyes, as his mouth curls into a smile. ]