Sworded Tales

The woman’s assessment had been swift and feral, head to hands and arms to eyebrows to groin and back again.  Gerard ladled stew as the inspection took place, grateful that her shriek was brief and guttural.  With luck, their presence would be overlooked for normal nocturnal activity of the local fauna.  Still, he thought it best to mention the danger.

“There are considerable predators in this region,” he spoke in even tones, “I would recommend keeping the outbursts to a minimum.” Continue reading

On a rain swept hillock, a lone, stunted figure, enshrouded in a sodden ochre cloak ambled toward the western bank of the winding river, an undulating swath of silver-gray. With every dozen paces, a puff of smoke rose and trailed behind him. He paused, turning at his wide waist to look behind him, and narrowed his stone gray eyes to watch the windblown wisps coil, ever thinner, into infinity. He stroked his red beard and pensively tugged on an intricate plait as he studied the patterns in the dissipating tobacco smoke. His lower eyelids twitched and his gaze grew distant, as if watching more than a billow of smoke in the rain, but rather the very fabric of the universe unraveling before him and tantalizing him with tenuous tendrils of unfathomed secrets.

His upper lip curled with a slow drag on his pipe, and his eyes rolled to one side, as he awakened from a deep, if momentary, trance. Rôhn Roughbuckle turned back toward the river bank, and plodded over the crest of the hill, bringing the splinted anatomy of the bridge works into view. Continue reading

Sharing lineage with ancient lemurs was never in the long range plans for Tanner Shyft.  Sailing, ship craft, exploration and ultimately settling with a brood of children, yes.  Were these not the nobler pursuits sought by the craftsmen in the coastal town of Baronesse?  His life journey had been cruising along with the graceful ease of the tidal flows.  Sailing was in his blood, and he had done so since he could walk.  He had already aided in the creation of several ships and had been designing his own sleeker reef vessels for navigating the precarious outcroppings which abutted the southern end of the continent.

All was well and good, until he undertook the exploring facet of his future self.  That was where he encountered the island.  That was where he became a werelemur. Continue reading

“Well, thank the gods for that,” replied the naked woman, relinquishing her threatening stance, “I thought you were going to curl up in a ball there for a minute.”

The woman shivered and turned her back on Gerard, retrieving the meager length of crumpled blanket.  Wrapping the fabric around her robust frame, she barely succeeded in securing it upon itself under one armpit.  “This is the best you could do for clothing?” she quipped over her shoulder as she returned to the fire and tossed a pair of logs onto the dwindling warmth. Continue reading

Marcus nodded thanks to Erellia and left her to go and stand next to Borlak and Katarina.  Marcus then waited for Kurn to prepare the animals, obviously thinking about what they might need. Once Kurn brought over the beasts, Marcus slung his chest on one of the horses, tying it down securely and locking it with a small key.

Borlak and Katarina joined Marcus without further preamble.  “Whenever Kurn is set to hand over the mule and tack I will be ready to go,” the barbarian offered. Continue reading

“Donkey dicks,” came the simple rebuttal, “I don’t believe you.”

Gerard gawped for a moment, not entirely sure he had understood her dialect.  “Did you just say—”

“Yes, I did,” she interjected with calm flippancy, “You’re lying.” Continue reading

Putting away the tea gear and making the cups vanish, Marcus pulled a brown oilskin cloak out of his chest before closing it.  Slinging the cloak on and walking towards Borlak and Katarina, he spoke to Erellia.

“Would you mind if I went to town with Borlak and Katarina? If we are getting foodstuffs, I would like to know what’s available before we set out.  I will talk to you about the spells I have when we get back.”

“That would be fine, Marcus,” Erellia responded politely, “Time is presently a luxury we can afford.” Continue reading

Weapons still sheathed at his side, Gerard pointed his empty palms toward her with a cautionary attempt to indicate that he meant no harm.  The gesture was reflexive as he had trouble understanding her dialect.  The words echoed a bastardized version of an ancient tongue from the southern wastes, but he couldn’t be sure with adrenalin pounding in his ears. Continue reading

“Then our wait commences.”

With that, Erellia began to go about some minor tasks within the shelter as the various members of the group prepared to undertake the assignments given to them.

“Sell the extra saddles with the mule?” Kurn asked, suggesting; if five of the horses were to be pack animals, the saddles were extra weight and burden they’d not be needing, and could be placed upon the mule and also sold in Westerly. Continue reading

Lister tried not to laugh, but sweet butter meats, the way the soothsayer said her name was a theatrical orgy.  If he had known his life would be forfeit, Lister was pretty sure he could have restrained himself.  Pretty sure.  But holy love knuckles, you had to be there.  You still could be there actually.  She still does readings and sees the future for the right price.  Just, whatever you do, don’t laugh.   Don’t.  Fucking.  Laugh.

The traveling sideshow made the circuit through the southern arch of towns on a semi-regular schedule.  The tents would erect and the banners flap every other year near the old mill, usually, if the weather suited wagon travel through the lowlands.  A handful of ill-timed rainy seasons had put the gypsies off course for over six years.  Long enough for a lot of the memories to blur, for a lot of the newer folk to the area to be ignorant of the fortuneteller named Rosema Fusto. Continue reading