Yeoldebard
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They didn’t leave the bedroom for several days. Arlo lost count of how many times they came, how often they jumped each other again. True to Coradiel’s word, the next time there were ropes. Ropes he let Arlo bind him with, ropes he let Arlo gag him with. Arlo was more than happy to be in control for once. But finally, a bell rang through the house. The amurrun’s ear flicked tiredly. He snored, snorted, cracked an eye open. And came face to face with the most gorgeous ass he’d ever seen.
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Here's hoping it sticks.
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The City of Monuments rose before them. Sprawling slate rooftops clustered over marble roadways, exuding a richness Arlo was almost certain was unearned. Sounds of a waking city clamoured in his ears as they grew steadily closer to the gates. Alabaster walls rose high to the right of the road, blocking off the richest part of town from the common rabble. Even the Naos District, the section the caravan entered, was richly appointed, well maintained, with teams of mages combing the streets to di
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Here's hoping they can get past that and into a loving one.
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A wagon, he said. Two days tops to reach Magnimar with a wagon. So why did Arlo see at least ten other vehicles all lined up along Market Street? “Good news,” Coradiel grinned as Arlo stared at the caravan. “I got us about five hundred gold each for a round trip to Magnimar.” “Five hundred?” He took a deep breath. Rubbed his nose. “Are we the only ones guarding this thing?” “Of course not,” Coradiel scoffed. “There are a couple of archers riding along with us- uh… where’s your horse?”
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“The Old Light?” Brodert Quink shook his head slowly. “I’ve been trying to get inside it for years. No luck. If there are any old spellbooks in there, I’m afraid they’re lost to time.” “And that’s the only Thassilonian ruin nearby?” Arlo groaned. So much for that plan. How was he supposed to find whatever spellbook he was looking for now? “I’m afraid so,” Quink replied forlornly. “It’s nice to see someone who’s as excited about Thassilonian ruins as I. Maybe you can take a look around the Ol
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I am really enjoying writing them. Things might get a little strained at times, but they are a good pair.
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Dad always wanted him to go hunting. Arlo’s reply had always been along the lines of, “Over my dead body.” Well… they both got what they wanted, he supposed. He trailed behind Coradiel and Aldern, his musket slung over his shoulder. Tiny flickers of magic played over his fingers — his level in [Arcanist] had granted him a few Tier 0 spells to use at will. Like the prestidigitation he’d used to bathe this morning after the whole… thing… with Coradiel. He’d slept with a man. A naked man. Arl
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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
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Thanks! I'm hoping to post one chapter a week starting Monday, with eighteen chapters already written out.
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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?
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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
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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
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“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
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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.
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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
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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.
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They're both having issues being vulnerable with each other.
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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
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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.
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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.
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Thank you for reading my story. I'm really glad my characters are able to bring out such emotions in my readers ❤️
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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
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Vielen’s 8th. One of the most complicated pieces she’d ever considered playing. And Kurt couldn’t even practise properly. No matter; she had a full three months to get this one down. So what if Arban stole the Nicansien from her? She’d show him. She’d show them all. When Miles heard her play this piece, he’d be amazed. “Khurtsaa, no music at the table,” Catherine scolded. Grumbling, she unclipped her earbuds. Across the dinner table, Soren watched her. It was really getting on her nerves
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We are ships embarking at sea. Full of hope, we lay our course Young, naive, we will fight the world, no matter what force. We are ships sailing at sea. Full of life, we keep our plot Gone from home, adventures ahead, with many battles to be fought. We are ships adrift at sea, our paths crossing in the light. Buffeted in each other’s wakes, we offer support, but in the end we have our own fight. We are ships, lost at sea. In the night we pass. Forever lonely, we seek safe ha
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