Goodkind meets William Burroughs - Naked Truth

'So we were going down through the Midlands on these rented horses, smell of rotting tar from swamps, bodies of whitewashed soldiers, sunset like forbidden fire, cackle of chickens in the still air. Skull-songs in the flamethrower dawn. We knew this witch down Aydindril way, nasty old gash, drinks the blood of goats already, we could make her for a gram or so of sorcerers' sand. You don't mess with the witches there, they got connections, Blood of the Fold in their pockets and that protoplasm shit, don't mess with the witches less you got some bad mojo of your own.

ZEDD: "Bags! I got the magic! I got all the magic she need!" And he's off with this old hooker from the Order, roaring down the border like he got a skrin up his ass, blows all his juice on the journey back and they bag him with his feet in the air at the Garden. Guy never was much good with that Subtractive.

In D'Hara, they gather the troops. Rapists from burned-out villages, borderline psychopaths with songs in their broken skulls, twitching idiots, hags, fags, bags and gars, murderous dominatrixes with raptor-smiles and perfect hair, rabid Objectivists with yeards and moral clarity, oozing bile and venom from slack, drooling lips. Chicken-wings husk overhead, frogs croak, goats bleat, Richard blathers.

RICHARD: "The Imperial Order, get this, they murder your children, they stick brooms up your mothers, you think we should take this already? Moral clarity is your friend. No grey no more, just black, just white, and we the good guys - you do what you have to, ain't no laws no more."

SISTER OF THE DARK: "Oh my God, hundreds of namble cocks!" She swoon with joy and is trampled by avenging horde. '