Darth Farter

I came upon the hall of White Finch and laid hands upon the treasures of his so-called barn, though by Odin’s beard, no barn of honest timber ever held so many soft comforts, trinkets, cushions, and suspicious luxuries. This was no barn. This was a jarl’s pleasure-hall wearing the skin of a shed. There beneath its roof I claimed a bed and slept as a conquering king. Yet when dawn split the darkness, I rose not alone. An army of tiny blood-drinking fiends had feasted…