Yeoldebard

Levelling in the middle of a battle wasn’t exactly a smart idea. Levelling in a loud pub after celebrating a well earned victory? That was much more Arlo’s style. The catfolk drained a mug of stout from the Rusty Dragon. Tobyn’s corpse was safe, there hadn’t been any deaths in the guards, and he had a pocket paladin on call. Things were already looking up. Dropping the tankard with a thump, he flipped open his spellbook, quill in hand. Choosing a new class had been easy. [Spellslinger] had

Thanks! I'm hoping to post one chapter a week starting Monday, with eighteen chapters already written out.

Arlo has died. But not all death is an end. Torn from the River of Souls, he is given an important task by a mysterious lich, and granted a new lease on life. When foes appear to return him to his rest, his mission and his life are jeopardized. Can Arlo survive the Pharasmin Church long enough to see his quest finished?

A warmth filled the tavern. Not just from the light, but from the joviality of those inside, and not a little from the heated salmon and curry-covered rice Ameiko Kaijitsu, the tavern’s owner, had cooked up to celebrate the Swallowtail Festival. The sounds of the festival itself barely penetrated the chaos of the tavern. It took Ameiko Kaijitsu a few attempts to settle everyone down in a seat. “Alright! Has everyone gotten their free food outa me yet?” the golden tanned Tian-Min woman called

A river flowed around Arlo. A river unlike any he’d seen before. Translucent bodies meandered, some faster than others, but all with the same general purpose. And Arlo was caught up in the middle of them. This had to be the creepiest dream ever. Then it got worse. Something yanked him. Wrenched from the river of mindless souls, Arlo flew into — well, he wasn’t sure what. The fabric of time and space? His mind could barely keep up with the current scenery, let alone take in a new one. Yet

“Last night, I learned my son was trying to become the very thing that cost me my job, my partner, my very way of life.” Connor winced at his father’s words. Sitting against a statue of Zasar, he closed his eyes, blocking out the world around him. Don’t cry. Don’t let the pain show. Yes, he’d tried to become a werewolf. So what? Wasn’t it his father’s responsibility to accept him regardless of who he was? But no, River tossed him aside. Got rid of him like so much trash. He’d tried his whole

I agree; there needs to be a hell of a lot more communication between everyone. Unfortunately, immature minds don't lead to the greatest thoughts.

Food always helped when he was sad. So Soren scurried through the kitchen, trying frantically to come up with something that he wouldn’t have to gut. He still had some deer in his freezer; maybe he could try another flatbread pie? “Soren.” How much deer did he have left? Fuck… how was he supposed to hunt for more? “Soren.” He couldn’t shift. He had no idea how to hunt as a human. Was he supposed to just throw rocks- “SOREN!” Soren spun. Connor sat at the kitchen table, shaking his

They absolutely need to talk more about all of this. But no, becoming a werewolf isn't as cut and dry as just having sex with a werewolf. There's a reason the mating urge exists, to find the best chance to spread the disease.

They're both having issues being vulnerable with each other.

The world had ended. No, the world kept going. Connor’s life was over. He’d expected this. He knew it was coming. So why did it hurt so much? He leaned against a sink, glaring at his reflection. Don’t cry. Don’t you dare cry. A sniffle broke the quiet around him, and Connor scowled. His eyes were still blotchy from his meltdown earlier — that could not happen again. There’d be plenty of time to cry when he left. When he went to Soren’s house. Connor’s gut twisted. How long would that las

Despite Theofrid's determination to stick with a gnomish face to start his adventures, I think he and Cassiel would have trouble being apart before long.

Thanks! I tend to use real world languages at least as inspiration for fantasy languages; in this case, the Askani nekos take inspiration from Japan, so in this setting at least, it's likely the word is Askani in origin.

Thank you for reading my story. I'm really glad my characters are able to bring out such emotions in my readers ❤️

This suit was the nicest thing Soren had ever worn. He felt unbearably fancy just trying to put it on. Everything was so tight, he was almost afraid to move. Surely things would start ripping if he bent his arms or shrugged his shoulders. And the buttons were worse. He’d figured out the tie after nearly an hour of videos, but lining up the buttons in the mirror… shouldn’t he be better at piecing together finer details? At least the mirror was nicer than the one taped to his closet door — the C