My skin burns under the desert heat, mouth as dry as the desert itself. The aroma of blood and guts under the scorching heat, a smell I am all too well accustomed to. I stand here, atop this dune of sand, looking out onto the countless motionless bodies, reminiscing of all that led me here.


    I have seen much that this world has to offer, and been places that I could only think as myth during my early years of life. I have gone by many names, and even more titles; chieftain, heretic, saviour, stormbringer, god slayer…


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    I am so tired. No, not physically nor mentally. No. I’m tired of this god forsaken world. Of all the anguish and horror that occurs throughout these lands, of the people who turn a blind eye to it all. I am so very fucking tired of these lands. I once looked at them in wonder and awe, but now all I see if death.I long to rid myself of these lands, of this life…


    However, I cannot. I still have a debt that needs to paid.


    “A debt of blood.” My voice nothing more than a whisper.


    This is my story.