As if surviving the end of the world and the theft of my powers wasn’t enough on their own, a heaping pile of ogre and a side of human raiders has been added to my plate while trying to feed our starving caravan.

The worst of what I face, though, is far harder to admit. My black magic takes its pound of flesh every time I use it, and each time the cost climbs. And yet, it calls to me, seducing me, all the while consuming little pieces of my soul. It’s a right bastard like that.

I don’t know how much longer I can deny its strength, because in this world strength is safety, and safety is all I can offer those around me. May the gods have mercy on me, because I may not have it in me to deny the magic that blackens my blood any longer....