Sworded Tales

Picksy Flint was born after the fall.  When the grid, and luxury, and the masses were little more than mystical retellings from the oldest still walking.  The days had shriveled.  The nights bled on.  And she had the marks to prove it.  Her crystalline gray eyes at the heart of them.

She killed her first feeder at the age of six.  Granted the spiked arm that recoiled when she released the trigger did most of the work, but the kill was hers, and she liked it.  From that moment, her path was chosen. Continue reading

Devon crashed through the surface of an emerald sea, the myriad sparkling gems washing away from him in a tinkling cascade.  The vibrant spectrum flooded his eyesight as the second forest rolled out before him, spanning the horizon in both directions.  He stumbled and swooned and would surely have toppled were it not for the firm hand on his shoulder.

His eyesight followed that limb up to the owner’s face, and an homage to the stranger stared back at him.  This being was majestic and righteous and seething with purpose, where the stranger had been uncertain and aloof.  They were so different, and yet, he knew them to be the same.  His name was Tammer. Continue reading

“Where in the hells am I?” Merinde reiterated her frustration.

“You’re alive,” Gerard smiled her a kindness, “Which is no small gift considering the circumstances.”

Merinde stared at the diminutive ranger.  “I’m hairless,” she announced once more. Continue reading

As Marcus, Borlak and Katarina walked toward town Marcus examined the mule and saddles they were supposed to trade.

“The saddles are new, they should get a good price,” Marcus sighed as he considered the mule, “I like mules better than horses for the most part, unfortunately they are not a speedy animal. Since time seems to be something that we will likely be short of, I will have to ride a horse.”

As they entered the young town, the immature age became apparent by showing only a few buildings and a lot of tents. Granted some of the tents were large, but their transient nature shone through, mainly to support the workers of the bridge. Continue reading

I recently edited a scene from an old PBEM game in which I participated, Black Moon Rising, and I enjoyed the rereading of it so much, that I wanted to include it here.  My character, Rillo, you may recall from an earlier post.  The character of Dunrik and the scene itself were crafted by another player and the GM for the game, so the imagining is not all mine.  Enjoy the collaborative effort!

Shining Horror

Rillo and Dunrik are stationed outside the wooden door, one eye each upon the closed solid portals, the other upon the approaches to their quiet and shadowy enclave.  Silence has descended upon the pair of sentinels as they await their companion’s return. Continue reading

Grime Hollow was not a place for the feint of heart.  None knew that better than Sigal Barsade.  The unsavory trade district was nestled between the more decrepit piers of the waterfront and the condemned quarry rife with pitfalls and sinkholes.  Sigal had grown up as a wharf rat around the bustling sea trade, a harlot’s daughter with dreams of captaining her ship one day. Continue reading

I’m sorry, could you repeat that?   The words formed in Devon’s mind.  “Sbbl, krbblthhhit,” is what came from the bloody motorboat of his lips.

The half-face withdrew and a spike of fear sank into Devon’s heart.  Wait!  He wanted to cry out, but neither breath nor faculty would cooperate.  Had he scared it?  He didn’t think so, despite his horrid appearance.  His mother’s memory chided him about first impressions, but he thought even she would have to grant some leniency under the circumstances.  His eyeballs roved in their sockets, looking for a rescuer, the majesty of this second forest view already dimming as a backdrop.  Though his nose tickled fancy, it was his ears which caught the lilting tune of a whistle.  Joyous and jaunty he allowed it to foster his flickering hope. Continue reading

“Blasphemy,” Merinde grunted, then she cocked her head, “Wait.  You’re serious?”  Her mind hiccuped at the notion and grasped at the anger for warmth.

“Quite, I must say,” Gerard replied, “The details are too many to burden you with right now, but it would be best if you kept your origins…vague, for the time being.”

“Give me the short version,” she ordered, relishing the notion of focused purpose once again.

“Alright,” the halfling agreed after a moment’s consideration, “But, after that, we rest.”

“Agreed,” Merinde lied. Continue reading

Erellia materialized from around the flank of one of the beefier steeds that Kurn was inspecting for the journey ahead.  Not even a silent whisper marked her approach.  An involuntary gasp from Haron was clear indication that he was startled by the sudden appearance of the mysterious Elf.

“Haron, I would like to speak with Kurn alone for a few moments,” she said in a pleasing tone, though Kurn sensed she fully expected to be obeyed, “Why don’t you spend a few minutes out of the rain near the fire to warm yourself?”

The boy stammered an affirmation, and after looking briefly at Kurn, headed toward the impromptu camp, his head unknowingly scanning for any sign of Katarina.  Once the young man has reached the shelter, Erellia spoke. Continue reading

“Work quickly,” Aristal said, glancing back down the crumbling hallway, “The deception ward will not delay them overlong.”

“You don’t say,” Mink replied.  The narrow Man’s blunt sarcasm was reflexive, his attention never deviated from the inspection of the doorway before him.  Something wasn’t right, was off.  He hadn’t figured out what just yet, but his instincts on such delicate matters had saved him plenty of times before.  They would do so again. Continue reading