I am Wose, a man of wrake and vengeance. My teeth perpetually drip with the blood of my enemy and my knives are sharpened on the throats of the Pitters, a hated race bent on the subjugation and enslavement of all the races that call themselves human.
I am a broken and damaged man adrift like a wandering soul from one wilderness and ghost hole to another. I am a wildman, perhaps even a mad man, now abandoned by the good Saxon gods, elves, and faeries. But it was not always so.
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