Some Violence
The Battle
The armored monstrosity glared down at the pale man, grip tightening on the wicked axe it held. It took a slow, heavy step forward, and the pale man's heart sank. What faced him was both his life, and his death twice over. It was his past and his future, and yet it seemed to exist only to hold him back. His realization was interrupted by another strong footfall. His eyes, hidden behind his mask, darted upward to see his opponent raise his axe high in the air, ready to strike.
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For Reasons Unknown
I sat down for supper with the rest of the boys at the Lake. Cyril had upped recruiting efforts, we had to compete with the Cult now and we had a pile of red bandanas that needed faces to mask. Some of the new blood sat rigid, nervous as they spooned hot stew into their gullets. It was true, we had the little plot right across the pond from where the fancy new Doomsday Cult had shacked up, and they gave everybody the willies something fierce. Most of us just knew better than to show it.
“The rabbit tender enough for ya, Slyfield?” Corbett Hackman, one of the other recruiters had a seat on the log next to me and clapped a rough hand on my shoulder before ladling stew into his own bowl, “We've got Bailey working on getting a few younger lads in as well, she's real good at that.”
Not a Fool
'They need a whole holiday for...this?' Alynore shook her head and continued on her new patrol route, trying to ignore the couples floating in boats through the canals, or lovers picnicking on the Park lawn. She adjusted the blue, silver, and gold tabard of the Silver Dragoons to distract herself from a pair getting more than a little affectionate in a doorway. Not her business.
Memories flit through Alynore's mind, of muffled moans, thuds, and giggles nearly every night; if it was quiet, that just meant Ma was spending the night in some man's own bunk. Sometimes one of the men would be around a few weeks, or months; on two occasions, over a year. But then Ma'd get restless, and flirtatious, and one man would disappear and a new one would take his place.
Alynore never gave it much thought as a child, inured to it all rather early...
Euthanasia: Alyhs' Intro, Part 4
You toss and turn in your bed, your thoughts haunted by a young girls cries for her dead lover. Images of the man's face wrapped in deaths pallor fill your eyes every time they close.
"Because of your weakness, because you ascribed that same weakness to me, he is dead!" Maybe Alyhs was right. You hadn't recognized the spell she was casting, could she have healed the boys spine? Could she have saved him? Were you as much to blame for his deaths as the demons?
Coilfang's Yield
Not every part of research is spent within a musty library. Any Arcanist knows this. Concieted as it sounds, only dabblers and broken hedge-wizards while away their hours among bookshelves and scribbling notations here and there.
Always searching for a universal truth, always pouring over the past work of others, yet never making actual progress, never realizing a sort of potential that grows within after so much work.
-= Heroic Run =-
Random story 'cause I can.
Dun Morogh was still the same place it'd ever been to Schedwycke.
The night was bitterly cold, as always. There in Kharanos, he sat at his favorite chair by the fire, fingers stroking out notes as they plucked against his ElectroLute. The tone was calm and mellow, despite the odd instrument's making, and at his feet that Mechanical Squirrel friend of his curled up like a cat by the gentle, crackling logs.
The place was quiet. Late at night, the barkeep took to cleaning out his dirtied mugs and preparing food, smiling all the while as one of his favorite customers provided his own service to the townspeople.
