Continuing the tale of The Wytchfinder - Pro dubbed cassette of "The Wytchlover" by Seregost on black cassette with gold foil label, hand-numbered. Limited to 25
Same audio on both sides
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You find me here, once again,
And has our prior love yet to end?
'Tis Autumn's chill embrace - a season bless'd
And you feel the warmth of my sinful caress
♁♉︎♁
In the waning light of the season, as the chill begins to creep upon the moors and hollows, a blanket of serenity befalls the land, save for Wolvenwood. The expanse of the dense forest seems to know no end, and few are the souls who would venture into its verdant, gnarled embrace; few, save for the lone Inquisitor, known in legend as The Wytchfinder. Tales are sung of his journey into the bowels of the dread forest to face the feared Harridan of the Wood, the Wytch of the Weald, and it is here where most of the songs end, for it is a great tale of the hero's journey.
But all is never as it seems...
At the charge of his Order, the Inquisitor did venture forth into the Wolvenwood, tasked with ending the plague of the vile Wytch. The missing children and rumors of vile necromancy reached a crescendo of bloodlust from the locals, and The Wytchfinder alone ventured forth into the forest, naught but his sword and faith, and it is here the legend is twain.
Fearful, fire-told tales in the waning Autumn moon unfurl the dreadful sights of the Wytch using her magick to ensorcel the brave paladin and thence continuing her Fell practices with a soulless companion, cursed to roam the wood forever guarding the secrets of his mistress. Some storied variants tell of the vile demoness keeping the Inquisitor alive while she flays the skin from his bones, pleasuring herself with his blood-draining screams as they reverberate from the forest under her tortuous ministrations; sounds that continue to this day.
But there is another tale, whose verses have been stricken from the Holy Record, and the punishment for recounting is to have one's tongue removed. To read further is to condemn yourself to the fate of the heretic.
You have been warned...
Thus did the Inquisitor venture into Wolvenwood,
Armed with naught but sword and faith,
And did chance to meet her there,
Bathing in the lake
Charged to slay
With unflinching resolve
T'was instead the beginning
Of lovers tragic, enthralled
⊕
Wolvenwood is given wide berth by all in the land, and no one dares to be caught near the forest at night; certainly not when the wind carries the sounds of screams, and whispers, and on some nights, when the moon is just right, some would swear they can hear the laughter of a man, the playing of a lute, and the singing of a woman, her melodious refrains drifting along the breeze.
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These songs make me feel so great. They're relaxing and take me to a simpler place where I can be myself - I always listen to Hermit Knight while working!! Odus da Wizard