If Under fell, if Over leaped, If death was life and Death life reaped, Something rises from the gloom, To make the Underland a tombHear it scratching down below, Rat of long forgotten snow, Evil cloaked in coat of White, Will the Warrior drain your light?What could turn the Warrior week?What do burning Gnawers seek?Just a barely speaking pup That holds the Land of Under upDie the baby, die his heartDie his most essential partDie the peace that rules the hour, Gnawers have their key to power
Beware, William of Mercia, you heeded not our warnings and you can no longer turn back, but the path ahead is strewn with danger, to you, and to those who travel with you. This is but the beginning. The legions of the underworld await you, armies will seek to destroy you, but only you can know the true course.
No truth can cure the sadness we feel from losing a loved one. No truth, no sincerity, no strength, no kindness, can cure that sorrow. All we can do is see that sadness through to the end andlearn something from it, but what we learn will be no help in facing the next sadness that comes to us without warning.
Story Content Warning: There will be angst, sex, a little rough language and rampant lesbianism. If this is not your cup of tea, don't drink it. If you are not old enough to read this, you will be soon. It might be in your best interest to wait until you are older. If you live in a place where this is not legal.. Why are you still living there? Maybe it's time for you to move on.