Veron shook his head, he hated trusting demons. “Let’s do this, then.”
The cave was so bright he forgot what darkness meant. It wasn’t until a moment later that pitch black enveloped his vision, and a small cackle filled his mind. His heart sank slightly, being unable to see anything, but he was unable to fight the process.
Kane stopped his pacing, and turned to look directly at Shay. He fished something from a hidden pocket up his sleeve. “We found only this.” Kane said holding out the key that Shay had released Westmont with.
There was a subtle change in the glint off Evanlyn’s arrow, and Shay realized it was now pointing directly at her.
He didn’t want to die, but if he was going to, it seemed better to him to cross the Styx from this place than on some forsaken battle ground, fighting some other man’s war.
For whatever reason, on this particular day, Karinith couldn’t go more than a few steps outside the village before she suddenly found herself right back where she left. At first, Karinith thought it nothing more than choosing the wrong path. But when all the paths into the woods were closed to her, her annoyance grew into frustration. It was far from done with her…
There were heavy and acrid smells too, familiar but not so comforting; sweat, smoke, wet leather, metal, wool soaked with blood. It smelled like dawn, it smelled like battle.
While Veron and Vlad are deciphering what creature it is they are currently studying, Blackkoven is planning something mischievous…
The fight became a dance like, tug of war, in a rain of ash and sparks; the whole scene back-lit by burning homes and trees.
Shay could clearly see everything. Everything. That was wrong. It couldn’t have been more than midnight, and it was a new moon out. It should have been dark as the deepest sea. She looked down at the blade of her sword. A glowing, flickering orange, reflected back.
“The real and invariable nature of a thing is comprised of little details. The more closely you can observe and define something, the better you will understand it.”
We arrived midday at the Order Garrison. A grumpy young man, who I could only assume was the garrison secretary, was tossing excess papers around his desk.
The priest went to help Veron, lifting and carrying Vlad inside while the two hunters slowly and carefully made their way up the steps into the chapel behind them. Upon entering it was dark and musky, frail candles lit throughout the place flickering hesitantly to dispel the shadows that hung everywhere else.
In this Woodland Watch, I give a brief overview of the basic Terrasylvan Lore as I understand it.
Blackkoven couldn’t help but feel one step closer to his overall goal: the removal of those terrible Terrasylvans from his woods. Permanently. Maybe this fortress would prove interesting after all.
You can tell a man just like you can a sword, you know. Some are bathed in jewels and gold, but have never seen hardship or toil. They easily break when put under pressure. A strong one does not need glamour or intricacies; they let their strength and deeds speak for themselves.