Andrew Thompson
Stories
8
Chapters
3,542
Words
1.4 M
Comments
0
Reading
4 d, 23 h
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“Feeling any better?” Dallion asked as he and Veil made their way back to the inn. “Can’t tell yet,” the blond replied. It had been a few minutes since he’d taken the cure. So far, the only thing that was for certain was that it didn’t contain poison. As for everything else, it would be at last half a day to tell whether the symptoms subsided or not. “This really pisses me off.” Veil said. Rage was ringing through his entire body. If there were a means to convert it to strength, the…-
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Much was unknown about the effects of familiars in the real world. The resources in the ring library were scarce, to say the least. From what Nil had shared, the only known cases of having them materialize in the real world were thanks to magic; thus, a mage with a familiar could, with enough skill and effort, have a familiar manifest in the real world for a limited amount of time. In theory, the Order of the Seven Moons could do so as well though other means, but they seldom resorted to that. The closest…
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“I thought you were dead,” Dallion said. He couldn’t remember the man’s name, but knew that he was high up in the mirror pool organization… or at least had been. From what Dallion had last heard, the tattoo had been killed under mysterious circumstances not too long after Dallion had cleared the Vermillian ring. The fact that he was here posed a lot of questions, almost as many as the fact that he had managed to enter the room unnoticed. “I thought you knew Bellal better than that,” the man…
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That was a normal aspect of the all-out attackers, it seemed. Back in Dherma, Veil used to torture items, breaking and repairing them just for fun. At the time, Dallion strongly disliked the practice, and that was before he had become an empath. Knowing that there were people who deliberately destroyed items filled him with so much rage that for a moment Dallion wanted to kill his opponent. The harpsisword remained on the ground along with the Flameforger’s initial weapon. The intensity of the fight so…
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The tournament, rather the festival itself, was a clear indication of the hostilities between guilds and individuals. This was one of the few times that part of the city’s restrictions were lifted, allowing people to act on emotions they kept in check for the rest of the year. The city guard, the overseer, the domain guardian controlled by the Lord Mayor himself, ensured the calm that Nerosal enjoyed. Apparently, all that was a forced calm, and the festival played a far greater role than Dallion had…
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For every thousand of black bugs, there was one red. Unlike the black, the red bugs rarely attacked, but when they did, they inflicted a minor wound, decreasing Dallion’s health by five percent. Finding a red bug among the swarm was difficult, killing one—ten times so. The difference was that once killed, the red bugs didn’t seem to respawn. Instead, a red damage rectangle appeared, indicating the damage dealt to the entire swarm. That wasn’t what Dallion wanted to hear. Already the number of…
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One week of rest turned out to be painfully slow. Half of the first day Dallion was so anxious that he felt he could jump out of his skin. Laying in the recently created bedroom in his realm, he spent thinking of past events over and over until he tired himself to sleep. The next few days were spent between chunks of sleep and feeling drowsy. It was as if someone had removed all the hidden pressure and anxiety that Dallion had kept within in the background, showing him exactly how exhausted he really was.…
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Leaving the sword’s realm wasn’t immediate. Following Nil’s advice, Dallion spent half a day in a room, picturing the real world at the exact moment he had left. Only after that did he exit the realm. The shock was noticeably less, although Dallion still required a few seconds of adjustment. That done, he quickly left the room and returned to the basement for his training. However, how could one train after learning so much? For hours Dallion remained sitting in the empty room, staring at the…
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The lower the dryads’ health got, the more destrusctive the fight became. Shelves were turned to splinters, walls had changed into a source through which to launch vine and root attacks. Dallion had to summon his starting buckler to ensure a degree of protection, but even then, it always wasn’t enough. “Duck!” Vihrogon shouted, his words coming instants after he’d caught a root fragment that had flown off towards Dallion’s head. The rescue was followed by a fierce attack from the birch dryad,…
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Vines shot out of the whale’s body, piercing cracklings by the dozens. The flock had attempted to merge together, but seeing that their overall size was still insignificant compared to the whale itself, then burst back into individual members and scattered in all directions. Dallion kept his guard up, but for the most part, he didn’t do a thing. As Vend had taught him, he maintained a few instances ready in case of emergency, but most of his thoughts dwelled on Vihrogon. The armadil shield had…
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