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Vol.5, Ch.5, P.11

“Hyaht!”

Might and main, I swung the svǫrtaskan, sending wolfsteel sundering into the Salvator vanguard. Swordbearers these were, sound of skill and desperate in the defence of their sorcerer brothers behind. Albeit to this moment had I yet to meet a single blade to steal my eye or earn my alarm.

But as befits these zealots, it was their ardour that more astounded. With sword in hand, they threw themselves upon us. With sword in hand, they stood their ground… or died gladly in the deed. Faith and honour—such would seem the fuels of their fervour, the light whereof was limned even upon their livid eyes. Would they were remedied of but half their madness, their “faith” that so branded another race as the original sin of their Scriptures, then what a warless world this would be.

But