Jessica Brown
Stories
7
Chapters
1,940
Words
857.1 K
Comments
0
Reading
2 d, 23 h
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Wurhi startled as the sack was ripped from her head. “What in the gods?” she exclaimed. Never had she seen a chamber like this. The closest she could liken it to was the foyer at Paradise: an area to hang one’s cloak and shed one’s shoes before entering someplace. Yet - while this had benches for seating as well - there was no doorkeeper, hook or welcome. Instead, there was weaponry. Dozens of arms and pieces of armour hung from the walls or stood on racks that ran through the centre of the…
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Merrick the Hawk coughed as though he would spill half his lungs onto the straw. With each hack, his face reddened and his body shuddered violently. The thief pulled himself unsteadily to his knees, waiting for the fit to pass. He took a quick glance at Wurhi. “You…alright over there?” Wurhi the Rat sniffed, wiping her nose and remaining tears on her ruined sleeve. “Am now,” she grunted sullenly. “Good.” He groaned, rising slowly to his feet and giving a ginger touch to his side. “Think…
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“Look now, thieves!” Haldrych Ameldan laughed. “Your tomb awaits!” “Oh shit,” Wurhi swore. “Bloody piss,” Merrick swore. A mountain rose ahead - a fang to the rest of the range’s duller teeth. Many fires flickered upon its snow-dusted sides - their lines of smoke leaning in the wind. At the road’s end rose a wooden palisade that sported grisly trophies: animal heads impaled on spikes and skeletal remains bound together and left to hang free. Black robed figures - wrapped further in…
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The darkest of moods held Kyembe of Sengezi as he returned to The Lovers’ Paradise. Cold stung his body, his feet had long numbed and within his belly stoked a fury as strong as hellfire. He had fruitlessly pursued the black-coated beast until his lungs began to burn. Dawn had brightened to morning, then noon yet he had found not a single step of their trail. As the streets grew crowded upon the turn of midday, he forced himself to admit that his quarry had long escaped. All he had gained for his…
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A wooden groan and jarring motion jolted Wurhi of Zabyalla back to consciousness. The thief moaned. Her skull throbbed as though trampled by camels, while her belly churned like a barrel of pickled plums roiling in a tempest at sea. An icy wind raked through great rents in her tunic, blasting snow over her trembling body. Something creaked around her. An odour of animal musk, the stink of horse and a familiar incense filled her nostrils. Her face ached - swollen from a great blow - and her mind moved as…
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Wurhi cursed beneath her breath. A trio of swords rattled in her grip as she raced through the hall. The two bronze leaf-blades were the Vestulai’s, while the long ivory hilted sword, belonged to Kyembe. Her own sword was shoved through a belt at her waist. The lock had posed no problem; it opened with a single twist of her knife. On any other night, she would have enjoyed foiling one of the trove guardians’ prized contraptions. On this night, even the short time it took to open, was…
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St. Cristabel Esclanore prayed. Half submerged in the hot spring; she held the struggling monsters beneath the surface. There was no light save for the barest sliver escaping lamps from the rooms above. Only shadows seemed to struggle in her grip. They thrashed beneath the water - regenerating - yet weakening by the heartbeat. Desperate claws dully scraped one of her arms. No cry arose from her. St. Cristabel Esclanore prayed. The sound of running feet echoed from the hall. Her hands gripped tighter,…
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“Wurhi!” Ippolyte shouted. Dishevelled, she bore a make-shift torch and a fire poker. Her red eyes squinted at the Zabyallan in the murky light. “What’s happened?! “Move!” Wurhi skidded to a halt, attempting to slip around. Thesiliea seized her by the shoulder. “Answer her!” she demanded. “We heard beasts and screaming and-” Hellfire raged in the wine room. Men shouted. A monster bellowed in agony. Thesiliea grew very still. “By the ancestors…” she murmured. “That’s your…
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Kyembe the Spirit Killer gasped from the top of the stairs. Masked men and lupine demons surrounded Wurhi. They had cornered the little thief. Death was no doubt heartbeats from her. Gritting his teeth, he channeled his inner magics. His ring flared. Burns slithered up his arm as the eldritch energy extracted its terrible price. “ Hellfire leapt forth and - even through his lids - it shone like the Lighthouse of Pharos. Its crackle was the sound of bone bursting. Bestial yelps swept up with the…
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Wood tore asunder, crashing to the stone behind Wurhi. The little thief gasped. What in all hells was that? Her nerves screamed. While hidden in the lav, she had heard the doorkeeper’s bloody end. It had frozen her in place, yet set her thoughts racing with horrifying possibilities. Had the Hawk come? Was it the Duke’s guard? Had they murdered the doorkeeper to gain entry? No, that made no sense. Why would either murder to gain the stone? For the former, it would cause unwanted attention; no master…
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