No Wings Can Take Me Far Enough
_It's cold._ Winter was late upon the land, and the proud, southern slopes of the Breran mountains once again found their heights graced by a dusting of soft, powdery snow. It fell in delicate sheets upon the rich, dark soil of the low-lying valleys,...
Human Custom
The bitter month of January was once again upon the land, and a frigid rain fell over the old forest of Paimpont. It was an ancient wood, storied and venerable. Broadleaved oaks and towering, red-dressed beeches stood in quiet sentinel over the...
The Shift
There's no dreaming in cryogenic sleep. No real rest for that matter, either. It simply begins and ends, with an indeterminate void where the dreams should've gone, and a vague sense of stasis in exchange for a meaningful rest. When you wake up,...
Flightless Dragons Dream of Falling
* * * At a certain point in their development, all dragon warrens invariably take on the scent of rot. It's a subtle thing, at first: a combination of elements that don't mingle too quickly or all at once. The strongest and most immediate of these is...
The Warmth of a Slave
* * * Deep within the isolated mountain ranges of Gran, and beyond the windswept pines which marked the barbarian lands of Kaal, the duchy of Fales stood obstinately as the longest winter in memory rolled across its countryside. Day after...