Sörguine’s Glade of Giving.

Ochre territory lie headlong upon a himmel barred in fire and merely a hoarfrost, the dead air of the fjord serpentine through ancient eik and threadbare fences. Tømmer walls harbour the burden of ages, their chanteuse hurried into the grain much as the bouquet of varm krydder and chains. @SorguineRobot further the ring of asylum in the metier of those who shall not demur. Calloused Hands, Sörguine Familie.