"I know little," he admitted. "I am a soldier, not a scholar. What I know comes from campfire tales and warnings passed down through the ranks."
"Tell me what you know."
He shifted his grip on the glaive, the golden light of the weapon reflecting in his eye. "The sons of the Naga are always bad news. That much every soldier knows. They are worshipped by cults, dark ones that practice blood sacrifice. Every son is tied to death in some form, but the aspects differ. Some are gods of murder. Some are gods of disease. Some are gods of the slow decay that takes a man from within. A place like this… would feed this god."
I arched a brow at that statement but I did not interrupt Ruggah.
He paused, glancing at the field of bodies stretching into the darkness. "The old veterans used to say that if you ever saw a son of the Naga, you were already dead. You just did not know it yet. I am not surprised that a place like this is related to them."
