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    Yeoldebard
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Stories posted in this category are works of fiction. Names, places, characters, events, and incidents are created by the authors' imaginations or are used fictitiously. Any resemblances to actual persons (living or dead), organizations, companies, events, or locales are entirely coincidental.
Note: While authors are asked to place warnings on their stories for some moderated content, everyone has different thresholds, and it is your responsibility as a reader to avoid stories or stop reading if something bothers you. 

The Nekromancer - 35. Chapter 35

Amnor Sen sat outside the tavern, honing his glaive. It had been at least a few days since he had last done this, the blade looked a little dull.

There was a smith nearby where he should be doing this, but Amnor Sen was doing everything he could not to go back into the buildings. It pained him to admit it, but he was scared. Of buildings filled with dead people.

His hand brand smoothly over the blade, a soft rasp whispering to him, telling of well made blades, metal coaxed into shape with a hammer. It had been too long since he'd been in a forge. The elf was starting to miss the heat, the noise. When he did reach Mendev, Amnor Sen knew he would be grateful for just a shack he could forge in. Wood carving may be his hobby, but smithing was what he was called to do, forging the weapons that would smite down evil in the name of the gods.

A sack heavy with coins suddenly hit the ground beside the elf, Amnor Sen looking up with a wince, his thumb running over the now sharp blade. Blood oozed from his skin, Amnor Sen sucking on the digit.

"There. The last scroll has been sold."

Jeremy sat beside the paladin with a sigh.

"A hundred gold, about. Now, will you stop beating me up over the wine?"

"I'm not beating you up," the elf groaned, shaking his hand.

He tucked the whetstone back in his bag, turning toward his husband.

"I know you worship a god of freedom and drink. But maybe you don't have to drink so much. I understand the wine was a treat for you. I am sorry for yelling at you."

Jeremy blinked slowly, his jaw clenching.

"I'm sorry too. I knew as soon as I did it that it was a bad idea. Why didn't we have this discussion last night?"

The paladin shrugged.

"We were tired, the argument was too fresh," he suggested. "I missed you."

"We still slept in the same room," Jeremy chuckled.

"You know what I mean. Now… what are we doing about the Mana Wastes? I don't know how far it is to Alkenstar, but it has to be at least a week."

"Oh, about that. I have about ten bottles of water and two bottles of wine in my bag. Jakun did amazing work on it," Jeremy said. "We should be good for a bit. But I was thinking, maybe we could catch a ship to Absalom in Alkenstar?"

"Winter is coming though," Amnor Sen said thoughtfully. "Maybe we could ride to Nex? We wouldn't be wasting the winter months and we don't really have money for a ship. It would be… what, near a thousand gold to sail to Absalom. It would be nice to avoid the northern desert though."

"That would probably be a better plan," Jeremy agreed. "Besides, Jakun would probably appreciate not being stuck in a place without magic."

"I would not," Jakun agreed, approaching them. "Jeremy, the stable boy says you need to calm your horse. He thinks she's… in season?"

"Probably. You want to help me find something for her?"

The amurrun shrugged as Jeremy stood. Jeremy led him into the city, heading for a grocery.

"It might be easier to sell her and get a wagon," he muttered.

"How would a wagon be easier?"

"Easier to pull than carry, right? And she's from a prestigious breeder in Anuli."

"If she's that… well bred? Why would you want to sell her?"

Jeremy shrugged.

"She isn't really meant to be a travelling horse. I was… possibly a little drunk when I bought her. Fuck, Amnor Sen was right, I do have a problem."

The cleric sighed, paying for a handful of carrots.

"You don't happen to know anything about caring for horses, do you?"

Jakun shrugged, Anya stepping out of him.

"Motherwort," the undead werewolf said.

Jeremy fought back a shudder.

"Okay, now will that help her or kill her?"

Anya rolled her eyes.

"It will ease her pain and make her less irritable. Though she has good cause to be pissy, having to carry you around."

"What is it the kids say? Swords and bows may break my bones?"

Grumbling, the human left the store, making his way back to the tavern.

"I'm probably going to sell her and get a gelding," he said, passing Amnor Sen.

"Your choice. Personally, I could never sell Zephyr. He's done so much for me," the elf said. "You want me to go with you?"

"No. I can do this… wait… yeah, come with me. I want to make sure I get a good horse. Or… you know, I could just keep riding Jakun's tigers. They are rather comfortable."

"Do you want to push that problem on Jakun though? You know he only has so much energy."

"Well… like I told him, maybe we can get a wagon instead?" Jeremy said.

"And do what with it? Drive it for two weeks before having to sell it again?"

"That's a good point. What are you going to do with Zephyr when we get to Nex?"

"He's coming with us to Mendev," Amnor Sen frowned.

"Well, that's more money then. I should sell the mare so we have the spare gold."

"Did you talk to Jakun about this? You aren't riding Zephyr."

Amnor Sen motioned toward the amurrun, who was slowly walking toward them, looking at an arrow intently.

"What is he doing?" Jeremy frowned.

"Probably trying to figure out a spell," the elf replied.

Jakun paused suddenly, his ears swiveling in alarm. A moment later, Amnor Sen heard it. A thunderous roar echoing through the skies.

"Shelyn preserve us…" he breathed, looking out at the sky.

A blob was slowly growing to the south, forming into a white dragon.

"Ivris?! I thought he was gone!"

"I guess he's back," Jeremy breathed, reaching for his mug. "The Drunk God bless us in our time of need…"

Copyright © 2020 Yeoldebard; All Rights Reserved.
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Stories posted in this category are works of fiction. Names, places, characters, events, and incidents are created by the authors' imaginations or are used fictitiously. Any resemblances to actual persons (living or dead), organizations, companies, events, or locales are entirely coincidental.
Note: While authors are asked to place warnings on their stories for some moderated content, everyone has different thresholds, and it is your responsibility as a reader to avoid stories or stop reading if something bothers you. 
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