Swain Skin Line Stories
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It was said that deep in the woods north of the Winterspike Mountains stood a cabin where the things of nightmares from another world took shape. A cabin that housed spirits that would feed on us from afar until they could claw their way to the other side to cut their teeth into the deals that foolish humans had to offer. Mother always said you shouldn’t make pacts with demons. Made you swear to it that you wouldn’t so much as think about invoking their help. That it always came with a price thicker than blood. But Mother is dead now, and you will be soon too unless you could tempt one into making a deal.
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- Part 1 of Swain Skin Line Stories
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Zyra looked wistfully at the ruined remnants of the Crystal Rose at her feet. It was dying right before her, but she couldn’t let that happen. The Withered Rose had crashed their recent festival in full force, attacking with reckless abandon, infecting it with a toxic, foul magic.
“It will flourish again,” she sighed. Of this she was certain. “But I’m afraid I will be missing a crucial piece of the equation.” The Crystal Rose was not self-pollinating, and Zyra, so far away from home, did not have the means to help the rose bloom on her own.
“Very well Swain,” she called over her shoulder. “I’ll have you pack your bags and set out with haste. You’re travelling to the jungles of Ixtal.
Series
- Part 2 of Swain Skin Line Stories