asylum

A CHAOTIC HORSE GAME

She watches from her iron towers-- the blood queen, the queen that sold her soul. Below her an army stretches out, a wall of black and steel and death. They march and it sounds like a thousand monsters trying to shake the moon out from the sky.

Her blood is slow now, light and vesper thin in her veins.

The magic is hungry and time is a vicious thing knock, knock, knocking at her glittering citadel gates. And the queen is more ravenous still for she is magic and time and disease all tangled into one. Only those loyal to her are safe from the hollowness of her need; only those that let her drink the magic from their hearts.

The moon peaks at the top of her tower and the army marches into the wildlands to feed the magic and keep their queen sated on her iron and ore.

Welcome to the riftlands where time and magic have gone wild and only the citidel is safe with its walls of iron and rivers of blood.

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