A short story from the World of Ere, taking place in a magic school in Novrom. This isn’t Hogwarts, that’s for sure. Continue reading
With Taylin recovered, all that remains are the consequences of her actions in battle. the Grandmother of the Winter Willow clan summons the former slave to an audience to bestow upon here a great honor… Continue reading
The battle is over, the the danger is not. With the aftermath comes recovery and the Clan of the Winter Willow seeks to offer Taylin something she never expected to find. Continue reading
As the battle with the bandits continues, the King of Flame and Steel finally reveals himself and his awesome magical weapon: Dottir Logi, the Eastern Brand. Continue reading
Kaiel watched the first two victims of Ru’s rampage fall. The line around him faltered as riders alternately attempted to flee, or charged forward to end it. The ones that chose the later charged into an increasingly creative meat grinder.
All the while, the snipers took shots as they found them. Here an archer clutched at a wounded limb, there one fell dead. Whoever was directing the bandit force managed to catch that in spite of Ru’s distraction and ordered the charge before the archers were prepared to cover.
The chronicler saw what they were trying to do; screening the archers with the bodies and dust of the advance group. It worked; where the charge managed to get started.
All except for where Grandfather aimed. The aged halfling had grown up in Rizen, where the long rifle was born and popularized, and he was good enough that three archers could testify already; two dead and missing eyes, one whose middle and fourth fingers have been blown off. In spite of the charge, he carefully waited for a shot and removed the kneecap of the other torch runner.
“He’s not even bothering with the archers.” Kaiel observed of Ru.
Taylin was … Continue reading
1 Malady Place, since the original building was built by Abraham Ulysses Faust, and by the statutes of the trust he placed the property in when he died, was required to have a Suite Number 6 on the sixth floor. After being renovated or completely rebuilt several times, Suite Number 6 remained, even while the rest of the building changed. Thus, Suite Number 6 was surrounded by 614 (Global Data Exchange Unlimited Call Center #318) and 616 (The Natalie Harmon Design Studio). The door out front still featured the frosted window bearing the words ‘Faust, Private Eye’. It was the same one that was installed in 1927 by Wilson Faust. It was now 2068. The business was Faust Investigations and Inquisition, and the Faust was Renee, the apparent great-several-times niece of Abraham. Behind the frosted window was a wood paneled reception room with a modern desk and hardwood floors. Two neat file cabinets flanked the door to the inner office, and a water cooler was placed beside the door to the restroom. There was also a leather couch and two heavy, high-backed chairs. The place was almost sterile in appearance. The only thing out of place … Continue reading
Saadis Oasis on the System’s Edge. It was more than a mouthful for any thinking creature and it was branded everywhere he could see; the glasses, the napkins, the gambling machines; it was even printed on the left hand of the waitress who handed him his complementary drink.
An indentured servant, all the way out on the so called ‘free’ system edge. Adrian Gable managed to keep his face neutral as he thanked her and transferred two plour to her tip account using the touch pad on her serving tray.
Her expression was worth it. Even after the unfair charges for her room, board, meals and—likely given Saadis Mor’s reputation—oxygen intake, she would still make a fistful of plourets out of the deal, probably enough to shave a few months from her indenture.
It was a lot of money for a free tumbler of unidentifiable purple liquid and ice, but then again, it wasn’t his money. He gave the glass an experimental sniff, grimaced, and set it aside. Finally, he returned his attention to the kiosk in front of him.
It was a Linethian design; a game requiring both luck and skill to win. You put your money (minimum five … Continue reading
Dawn came to Bri-sean. Unfortunately, even the first rays of the sun can’t improve on the aesthetics of the place. I imagine that at one time, the stone tiers looked forbidding and imposing. Those days were long past.
The enterprising and the clever arrived in Bri-sean a few decades late and found that the landlords of even the deepest, most suffocating chambers of the vast hive-city charged exorbitant rents and expected to be paid in coin or work. As most people who come to Bri-sean have an allergy to halfway honest work and the nobility doesn’t take kindly to freelance crime, they built their own ramshackle homes and businesses from wood and stone that jutted out into space right off the side of the tiers. The looked like thorns festering in a limb.
Sunrise didn’t even make the city more safe. In fact, it was just the opposite. The light of day chased away the cowards who needed shadow and surprise to ply their villainous trade. And when the mongrels fled the field, the wolves arrived; those confident enough in their strength or skill that skulking was no longer necessary. The wise hid their wealth and tried not to draw … Continue reading
“Let me tell you a story.”
My signature line. Yes, I was being paid to tell stories. Yes, many of the guests at the party were there purely because they were promised that for that one night, the entertainment would be classic tales weaved with expert care by the Traceren Ridsekes. But none of that really mattered. It was all part of the atmosphere and illusion of the exotic to entreat the audience to hear my tale as if I were a stranger who had come to their fire in the night.
And I certainly wanted ot keep the entertained. Not just from a sense of professional pride, or because I felt I owed it to them because I had been paid. In normal circumstances, that was enough, but I was surrounded by the ‘nobility’ of Bri-sean.
Nobility was their word, not mine. There weren’t any bloodlines in the Rogue City, just blood spatters. I hesitate to use call them upper class either, because class varied from nation to nation, or in some cases, city to city.
In Harpsfell, where I live when not earning my coin, they would grudgingly be upper class, because Harpsfell will let you call yourself … Continue reading
The superstitious, particularly those with no talent in magic of their own, often had dire warnings about its use. This as especially true for the abilities they coveted most. Chief among them was transmutation. Borrowing the shape of another, they hypothesized, always carried the threat of that shape dictating the shape of one’s mind. Above all, they feared the loss of self.
As far as Ru was aware, there never was a danger of that for even the most bumbling shapeshifter. In fact, crafting a spell to make it happen on purpose was almost more trouble than it was worth.
True, in taking on another form, it was a common shortcut to overlay the intended creature’s instincts. Plain and simple, it was easier to borrow the ability to run on four legs or breath fire than to learn how the natural way. But the shapeshifter’s mind was always in control as long as they were conscious.
Later, Ru would cite that last part and stupid cat instincts.
He woke up sprawled on his belly. Someone was scratching his head and blazes did it feel good. A purr rumbled out from him and he rolled his head beneath the stroking hand … Continue reading
