Fantasy

Tales were often spoken about Silver Wood, but no one dared venture there for they were a haunted, evil place.

Together we are legends, and legends never die as long as they are remembered in story and song.

The Darkling had woken Lon with clawed hands wrapped around his throat, squeezing the life from him as it sat upon his chest with a sharp grin of a hundred daggers.

As he cradled her in his arms, a crow landed on top of the stone, pecking at it. It spread its wings and squawked, watching the two lovers.

A mercenary, he travelled the land, a sword for hire. Whoever paid enough gold would find a living legend fighting in their army, pushing the men to victory by just his very presence.