Herbalists' Cache sleeping mist

she tells true.

he looks upon the body. still, he can feel the trumpets of war in his vein. a willingness to destroy, to maim, to kill—all stemming from a bloodline made for destruction. it has been so long since he was so cruel. so voracious. and it felt amazing. he tastes the man's blood still, fresh upon his tongue as if it had just happened, and he raises his head.

lips curl. it is what i wish i did to the tartok woman. cruel, bitter honesty as it was. blackfell did not fear. he told it how it was. that was who he was, who he was born as. he would not forget it again.