Blood Dancers Of The North
"You overestimate your importance, milady," he said, mocking her title, "Your kind was bred as dogs for one purpose alone." He could feel the tip tip of her sword dig deeper into his throat. "Your subservience."
"You hold your tongue, filthy mage, lest I take it from you." She spat, the blade of her scythe so close to his neck; a hair's length more and he would be dead.
"You would like that, wouldn't you?" He could feel himself reigning in his power as the torch flames surrounding them began to lower. His voice lowered so only she would hear. "Blood dancer."
Cover by: JettaFrame