THE LAST FLIGHT OF THE WHITE RAVEN
BLURB
The pure Icelandic sky was covered with the sigh of an impious god from foreign lands
An order of wizards desired the throne of King Kristoffer Olafyr.
His son’s wedding was splendid, the fiddles gladdened the hearts of those present and then, the dark magic fell.
Oh, his boy, his wretched boy became that cursed bird, a cursed bird that flew away among the darkened clouds, cawing for revenge inside cold winds and thunder.
Steel and spears turn the snow red. The bastard of Hoarfrost, forgotten scion fights in his agony.
A sword of ice springs from the chest of the raven, the last flight is coming to its sad end.
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