The year 1280 since the rise of the unchained
TERRITORIES OF THE EMPIRE
The first thing Morgal remembers is the sound of her claws gouging rock. Sharp, dripping with blood. Her own blood. She had finally managed to leave behind what remained of the Broodr’s influence. She no longer felt that weight in the back of her head. The droning, nagging, *judgmental* voice trying to convince her that she was wrong That she had to redeem herself. Redemption for what? To end up like them, crumbling into the universe, powerless and powerless?
No, she would be the black heart of Morkh, the queen that this corrupted land deserved.
But someone had other plans for her. Someone was watching her with the satisfied expression of one who knows he has found a treasure.
“There you are, my dear…”
SHORT STORY
The Dark Throne
BY J. A. Windgale
“Take him away.”
Larken raised his head, his broken left horn in plain view before everyone’s eyes. He was still kneeling with his hands resting on the ground, as submissive to the judgment of the Aesyr as anyone who entered the door behind him.