burning black and gold

Newly crafted weapon wrapped around his shoulders, the rot prince longs to use it. Cracking the whip against trees, using it to take out prey, that was one thing. He needs something built of wolf flesh, something that will fight back, to really figure out what it could do. The weapon his heavy, but comfortable in his grasp. Everything is a rush, pure energy, as he takes his place on the battlefield.

Summer was coming to an end, bringing a cool breeze that stung on the edges. Dusk was coming, sky redder than usual, as it spread above Björn⁢'s head. The rot prince's sharp call echoes, along with a crack of his whip. Bring it on, bitches.

"Björn"