INTRODUCTION
In the Shadow of the Godwyrm
The lands of Iselaird wither beneath a primordial curse.
The Sun lies in eternal slumber, veiled by the serpentine coils of the vile Godwyrm. Its writhing shrouds the All-Sphere in shadow. From its body bleed the Children of the Wyrm, wailing in the unending night. They plummet to the surface, plague and strife following in their wake.
Ingress, the Unseelie griever, bears a curse of her own.
The rotblade Alberich follows her every step, bound to her by witchcraft. Its obsidian edge thirsts for ichor even as it drains her own elven blood. This is her penance -- for summoning the wyrm.But she was deceived. Betrayed by Corinth and those she had sworn to serve.
Now the Unseelie stalks Iselaird, driven by vengeance and hunting for blood. Alberich will feast on the corpses of her betrayers and when the blade's thirst is quenched, Ingress will turn its sharp edge toward her ultimate prey.The Godwyrm itself.
ABOUT
Eirlithriad Saga
Eirlithriad Saga is a new dark fantasy world created by Giannis Milonogiannis (Old City Blues, Ronin Island, Prophet).Told through prose, illustration, comics, and ephemera, Eirlithriad Saga is the story of Ingress, a fey elf betrayed by those she once served and her hunt for revenge through the lands of Iselaird.
Excerpt from
Blade of the Unseelie
The stench was unbearable even on the hill where Ingress stood, a thousand paces from the village entrance. She closed her wide-set eyes and filled her nostrils with the scent of rotblood. The smell of death made her stomach turn and her mouth water.Not good, she thought.She slogged downhill toward the plague-ridden village, leaving dying trees behind. The harsh moonlight cast a long, cold shadow where it met her pale Unseelie features. Paler than ever, now.The journey through the dead forest had left her exhausted, down to her last vial of blackwater. If she didn’t find more, it wouldn’t be long before she herself succumbed to the rot that coursed her veins. She quickened her step.Close behind, the obsidian instrument of her torment followed silently. The dark blade was longer than she was tall and curved slightly, masterfully, along its length. The longsword followed in her step, sharp black glass cutting through the mist, trapping any moonlight that fell upon it. The name of the blade was Alberich.Ingress so abruptly stopped at the village entrance that Alberich nearly slammed into her broad, cloaked back. She looked down to a signpost offering directions to nearby settlements. The place names had been scratched out of the redwood. Bruise-colored mold had grown in the gashes. The vandalism must have taken place some time ago.She lifted her eyes to the decaying village that lay ahead. A crude gallows stood in the muddy town square. Around it, a few rows of ramshackle wooden buildings fanned out in a circle. Most of these were in complete ruin, doors and windows half-hanging on their hinges as thieves and bandits had once hung in the village square.Through a filthy window she could make out faint candlelight dancing on a wall. She made her way to the house, decrepit and rotting like the others, but clearly inhabited. Muffled voices spoke softly within. As she reached the door, the conversation ceased. Before she could lift a hand to knock on the door it opened, if only a crack.A grey face looked up at her, wide eyed and at a loss for words. “Stranger,” a man’s voice growled. “Go away.”Ingress towered over the sickly man so intensely that, when she placed her hand on the door, he knew better than to try wrestling it shut.“Suit yourself, long-neck,” he hissed and stepped back from the door. “Got nothing left for you to take, anyway. Bandits took most of it. Rotblood’s taking the rest. Now get in here – you’re letting the cold in.”She ducked and walked into the house. Any change in temperature was hardly noticeable. Inside, the man poured wine into a steaming cup while a woman tried to keep warm sitting by a wood-burning stove. The woman tensed up at the sight of Alberich hanging in the air as it followed Ingress into the house’s single, it seemed, room.“Witch,” she whispered, more in awe than fear.“That’s no witch,” the man reassured her as he looked from Ingress to her blade, and back again.“Unseelie folk lost their magic years ago, even before the Second Realm fell. Our unwelcome guest bears a curse, more likely.”They were both filthy, reeking of blood, dirt lodged under their nails. But the woman’s clothes were finer than his, the higher quality of the threads plainly visible, even in the candlelight. In fact, she did not fit in this house whatsoever. Finally, Ingress felt it was time to speak.“You don’t live here,” she addressed the woman. “What are you doing here in the middle of the night?”The man became visibly irritated at the question. “You don’t live here either, long-neck! What are you doing here?”“Enough, Edrin,” the woman ordered. The man named Edrin seemed to grow smaller. This woman commands a power over him. The woman turned to look at Ingress.“This man is our village doctor, stranger. I found my husband sprawled on the floor not long ago. He wasn’t breathing. So, I ran here to call for Edrin’s help,” the woman whose name was still a mystery said."Lady Gibbet and I rushed back to her place,” Edrin continued. He took a long swig of mulled wine and swallowed loudly.“Lord Gibbet was nowhere to be found.”
Behind her, Ingress felt Alberich squirm.
Eirlithriad Saga is Copyright 2025 Giannis Milonogiannis.