Traitor’s Crossing

Brahl was a dead man. The greataxe he heaved in his large hands would no longer save him, as across the rickety wooden bridge, his once friends stared at him with burning eyes of rage...

The Cup of Jardenyre

Perhaps you have heard the tale before, perhaps not. In either case, you would find it wise to listen to my words, and let the story of Jardenyre’s cup treat your mind.

Night Owl

Did that punctuation belong there? It didn’t look right. And that word, surely that made absolutely no sense to have it in the phrase she did. Or was it? Maybe she was overthinking it, after all she had been at it for well over five hours...

Powered by WordPress.com.

Up ↑