Sworded Tales

The lizardman suddenly found the conversation growing to be three-way; though more complicated for him personally, it was a welcome transition from the stolid silence that had suffused the gathering at first.

Taking advantage of the pause in which Borlak seemed to be gathering his thoughts, the Silveraean turned his calm attention upon Rôhn; he had scrutinized the Dwarf well enough earlier during the debacle with the horse, and so had no need to narrow his own eyes in return.

“That meeting has become an honored part of our own history; the Dwarves have proven to be true allies since that day,” he replied.  The words weren’t what he might have chosen in other circumstances, but he’d been on the surface long enough to recognize and return the more formal style of speech that was often used there.  Still, recognizing that the situation couldn’t stand entirely on formality, he slipped a bit back towards his more customary cadence.  “One day shall I look upon this relief, perhaps?  It would be a happy thing to see, I think.” Continue reading

Until now.

Merinde sighed heavily and straightened up in her chair.  Her spine creaked its own discord, but she paid no mind to the aches and pains which conveyed memories of her past exploits.  Each was a story in itself, but those were tales she did not often revisit.  Too many ghosts.  Too much blood.  She took one more swig of liquor from the mug next to her and set the cup down upside down on the table to an array of gasps. Continue reading

Finishing the sip that he was taking, Borlak turned his dark brown eyes upon the person addressing him.  In his quiet manner, he replied, “Yes, I was approached and given an invitation that was just enticing enough to put the feet of my mount on a path that I had not intended.”

His head tilted slightly in thought, or maybe remembrance, a fond look sparkling in his gaze.  “As for home,” he continued, “You are correct that it is not the great city.  Nor is yours, I believe.” Continue reading

Seravis met her gaze without contempt, unable to see a means by which he would lose this engagement.  The younger man flourished a hand toward Merinde, granting her whatever time she saw fit to relish her final evening as proprietress of the Last Dance.

The small hamlet of Daruqhaar was the dying breath of civilization before the blasted wastes of the north.  A sordid and conflict ridden history congealed around a singular fact which explained the village’s survival nestled in such unforgiving lands.  The inn known as the Last Dance was blessed, or cursed, depending on which side of the argument was preferred.  The power behind the anomalous structure was unknown, but a dizzying number of tales surrounded the source material.  Whatever the origins, the Last Dance served as a beacon to those that would gamble in this challenging terrain.  Daruqhaar survived as a result, flourishing or rebuilding as circumstances dictated. Continue reading

Not that Kurn expected anything would surprise Erellia, he looked to the Elven woman for her reaction to the arrival of the man that had just added his mount to the others and now approached the quick camp.  No weapons, simple ornamentation, robes and small fineries.  A mage then, or a priest of an order Kurn could not place by token.  The half-smile was genuine enough to prompt a nod of greeting from Kurn.  Words would certainly be exchanged soon enough.

The lizardman took up a patient vigil at the periphery of the tent, albeit safely clear of the deluge, as the tea brewed and the late arrivals filtered in.  He joined some of the rest in drying off through minor magic, invoked by little more than a couple of whispered syllables and a few quick pats of one hand across his scaled person. Continue reading

“Your time is up, Merinde,” the voice knifed through the chattering din, carrying enough smug malignance to fill a keg.

“We’ll see about that you ignorant basilisk,” Merinde replied from the edge of her seat, fingers steepled on the table on either side of her considerable frame.  Matters were grim, that much was certain, but she had seen worse.  Hadn’t she?  One calloused hand rose and descended in practiced rhythms over a small crock, transporting the singeing liquid within to her lips.  She wiped the spittle from her mouth and slid the vessel away.  A bottle tipped to refill it before its momentum subsided. Continue reading

As the odd group assembled and then began preparing their makeshift shelter, an unassuming figure on horseback watched from a distance.  The times were perilous and a sure notion of the places one walked into was a precaution that was not a luxury.  Still, the hooded rider knew when to just let what may be run its course without excess planning and undue wariness.  He urged his riding steed to begin their descent down the rolling series of knolls, mindful of the slick grass and lifeless muddy patches which riddled the area. Continue reading

The command was a simple one, and perhaps the most convincing he had ever heard.  Run.  But from what?  Was there a point in running from such a creature, that could rip and rend through the very foundations of the earth?  Gerard continued to search the ruins below as the thoughts raced across his mind.  Silence smothered the scene, and the survivor inside knew that his rationalizations were little more than dangerous delay.  His heart wanted to climb down and search.  His head knew better, and his feet, had they been more independent, would have been half a wheel away by now. Continue reading

If this was his first meeting with the woman he knew as Erellia, Kurn  may have been taken aback that she readily knew the name of the handler he had brought along to assist with the horses.  In the way of things, he accepted that she knew the name in stride and did as she bid, first accepting Erellia’s mount, then making the offer to the dwarf, Katarina and Borlak.  “I will lead them, or you may ride them to Haron if you prefer.”  Continue reading

The vibrations of Anibel’s voice thrummed through Gerard such that he did not realize the ground beneath him was grinding in unrest.  He snapped to attention and vaulted across the bed of coals, landing in woobily strides as he snatched up his pack and made for the cliff face.  A ratcheting shriek erupted behind him, but Gerard did not spare the instant to glance back as he launched into the narrow crevasse.

An erupting boom spattered bits of rock against the stony face as the ranger set to climbing the rugged chimney above him.  Exactly the task he had wished to avoid in the inky lighting.  Foot after hand, check and scale, Gerard’s mind pulsed with adrenal precision during his escalation.  A second boom prompted a momentary glance from him, and he clenched his teeth in anger at wasting even that small moment. Continue reading