William Anderson
Stories
6
Chapters
2,147
Words
340.2 K
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Reading
1 d, 4 h
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Recollecting our lengthy shopping excursions when I had money proved to be an effective distraction. I mentally revisited the afternoon when we playfully traded nicknames, striving to be cute enough to nauseate the other. I was on the brink of turning nostalgic and tearful when Opal interjected, "They're departing, boss." "Alright. Return here." He returned to my shoulder. I peered around the corner. The light spilling from the inn barely illuminated the dark, but I could discern them. My target was…
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"Yes," Drevolan responded while squaring off with his adversary. "It wouldn't be a fair fight otherwise." "Ah. Naturally. How foolish of me." The adversaries drew closer, and Drevolan's opponent nervously eyed the sword and licked her lips. "Don't fret," Drevolan reassured. "It only does what I command." The other nodded and assumed a defensive stance, her left hand forward, clutching the dagger. Drevolan mirrored her, unsheathed his dagger, and initiated the attack with his sword, which she…
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* * * * Returning home, my legs felt reinvigorated, but my mood was less so. I was increasingly irked at Lynn's persistent elusiveness, and I found myself swearing off Fedya's forever. Settling into my favorite chair with a glass of brandy, I mused over my predicament. "Back to the drawing board, Opal." "We could give it another shot tomorrow." "My legs can't endure that." "Right. So, what's the next plan?" "Not sure. Let me ponder a bit." As I roamed around my flat contemplating…
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"Do you know for sure?" "No." The wolves howled again. "Opal, can you gauge the distance?" I asked. "In this place, boss? It could be ten feet or ten miles away. It's all strange here. I'd feel more secure if I could smell something. This is unnerving." "Would you like to fly around and scout?" "No, I'd lose my way." "Are you certain?" "Yes." "Alright." Out of the corner of my eye, I noticed a swift movement to my right. As the adrenaline surged, I saw Drevolan had drawn his sword, and I…
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One peculiar observation: there was no smell of decay. Actually, the only scent I could perceive was a faint sulfuric one, likely from the river which was now rushing and frothy. The river's flow over grayish rocks and sandy banks, sculpting patterns in slate, were the only sounds present. I felt Opal shivering inside my cloak. "You alright?" "I'll survive, boss." I sat up and observed Drevolan; he appeared even more fatigued than I was. He was soaked to the bone, shivering as I was—a detail I…
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"I like it, boss." "Alright. I'll stick with it. Naming a piece of chain strikes me as a bit silly." "Let's get moving, then," Drevolan suggested. I agreed, rewrapped SpellFoe around my wrist, and rose. We moved towards the falls, the sound of our voices once again muffled by the cascading water. As we approached, I noticed a pedestal near the edge, adorned with an engraved Lurivox. Drevolan fastened one end of his rope around the pedestal, which some might find distasteful, I wasn't sure. The rope…
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* * * * I had been a part of the Organization for nearly a year, and I was starting to gain a quiet confidence in my abilities. I had developed an aptitude for intimidation, a simple raised eyebrow or a smile would do the trick, and it was understood. Thorne and I had established a solid dynamic. If a target began to display aggression, I would hold my ground while Thorne took him down, usually with a surprise blow from behind. Then, I'd follow up with some minor harm and a mini-lecture on the virtues of…
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Drevolan decided to follow the course of the stream, and after a couple more hours, it had grown into a modest river. By nightfall, it had expanded into a large river, and we found a suitable spot to set up our final camp. As we were winding down for the night, I asked, "Drevolan, does this river have a name?" He replied, "Crimson River." "Makes sense," I commented and drifted into slumber. After an hour of walking the next morning, our journey led us to NecroGate Falls. NecroGate Falls has a…
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* * * * Here's a fun activity to try if the mood ever strikes you. Engage an Imperion who doesn't have a violent disposition in a conversation about magic. Observe the scornful twist of his lip at the mention of magic. Then, bring up the numerology involved in spellcasting. Discuss how some spells require two black candles and a single white one, while others require two white ones and no black. Talk about a simple love spell that mandates three pinches of rosemary; the amount isn't important, but the…
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Opal perched on my shoulder, prompting a surprised expression from the leader. "I'm Viktor Dravos," I introduced myself. "I am Drevolan," added my companion. "I'm known as Haze," she responded. A red-eyed Tigryn interjected, "That's because when she throws her spear—" "Enough, Alder." Some laughter ensued, including from Opal, a fact only I knew. Haze questioned, "The Vorgan on your shoulder - he's a friend?" "Yeah," I replied. "Vorgan feed on dead Tigryns." "They also feed on dead men,"…
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