Be It May, Be It Not

Parching, sunbeat rays shun down upon the earth as it torrefied the sterile, sculpted canyons. She had yet to abscond from this copious, yet vapid landscape; there’d been more tempting sights, truthfully, and this was not one of them. Of late, there’d been far more rendezvous than she’d care to endure – however, some proffered nous and conjured an idea of what Boreas, presumably, was. It seemed prodigious, a world with umpteen domains, whereas the former did not. An unfettered feeling flittered in the graveyard’s tenor, threshing like maggots inside aged, rotting flesh as if it were their last repast. A woeful, knotted growl thrummed past ebon lips, drivel attenuate yet gloopy and estranged -- siam hairs bore a bellicose demeanour, steps heavy at every expense -- what, pray tell, will come of all this?

Why had the overlord’s undone a life, and reincarnated it without so much as a fucking admonition? It irked Lebraid’s soul, a torture she didn’t dare unbind, for now; canines wet, coppery sands stuck sparsely undertoe.

Action. | “Speech.” | Skill.
“Wrong me once, I’ll kill you twice.”