The Child of the Wastes
It s said that her cloak was a daemons gift, in payment for sparing her life on thy first night. By learning the art of shadow she may hide herself from the horrors of the north.
The cloak she possesses sifts in and out of reality, twisting in the unseen etheric winds that buffet a mans destiny this way or that. If you stare for long enough into the shadows, you may see constellations spinning in wild, furious riot. You may dream of the dead, or see nightmares stare back at you in silent vigil.
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amazing work as per usual , the grieves are stunning , , also liking this new layout of the blog and the previous assassin , always interesting to see you work mate.
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