He is neither man nor beast: he is the echo of a forgotten oath. In the clash of battle, his silhouette dances like a specter, as swift and lethal as the serpent that dwells within him. The gods gave him a mantle of steel, but it was his faith that sharpened his bite. None escape his venom, none survive his gaze. He is destiny and judgment, all in a single blade.

Enemies whisper his name before they fall, speaking it with the same fear with which one names death. And in every war, when the earth runs red, the chronicles remember him not as one who fought for glory, but for devotion. The white serpent knows no defeat, for he does not fight for himself, but for that which the gods sealed into his flesh and spirit.

The White Serpent of the Dark War

Where all that is pure dies to be reborn in sacred pestilence

Where Purity Rots

𝚃𝚑𝚘𝚜𝚎 𝚠𝚑𝚘 𝚝𝚑𝚛𝚎𝚠 𝚝𝚑𝚎𝚖𝚜𝚎𝚕𝚟𝚎𝚜 𝚒𝚗𝚝𝚘 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚊𝚋𝚢𝚜𝚜 𝚊𝚗𝚍 𝚛𝚘𝚜𝚎 𝚠𝚒𝚝𝚑𝚘𝚞𝚝 𝚊 𝚜𝚘𝚞𝚕

III

Abatthra

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