This is the first chapter in a story I never finished. I now consider it out of date and won't be updating this storyline specifically, but instead will be working on a rewrite of it! I don't know when or if it will ever come out, but for now, this dusty draft will be kept online for the foreseeable future.

Into the jaws of death the Knight rode. Before him, the early morning fog lingered over the burnt remains of the entrance to the vale. There no signs that once a village had prospered within those borders.

“Might I ask what you think you’re doing?” A voice out of nowhere rumbled like thunder.

Hadn't Tsavila said that he should be kind to her, for she'd suffered enough already? If she was compelled to act this part against her will, further probing could do no good; he had already learned enough to be sure she was no Vetuatsenu. Various moments of their conversations the day before came back to him: she had repeatedly changed the subject when someone brought up recent events in Netuatsenu, or asked more than a few questions about her family.

A beginning again.
It's like all stories, you see new horizons as they develop.
Also short again. Have too much to do suddenly.
Which is weird :)

Launuru said little in the carriage on the way back to the wizard's house. She was thinking about her reaction when Kazmina had suggested that she change back into the man she'd been when she hired the room. It had been as appalling to her just now as the idea of becoming a woman had been when Kazmina suggested it two days ago. If that were so, how could she ask Tsavila to marry her, promising to become a man again soon?

 
The Nightingale's Song
 
by Armond
 
 
Anuvar, a glistening jewel in the sea, gifted by the Goddess to Her people. Yet their ears have become deaf to Her song, and a doom hangs over the Isle. The famed singer Orlando typifies their plight; the Goddess gifted him with the most amazing talent to stir men’s souls, yet he squanders it for wenching and wine. An horrific crime sets the troubadour on a different path, but will it lead to the redemption or damnation of the Isle?
 
 

In a little village on the edge of the map, heroic Sidereals Focused Rage and Shining Feather probe deeper into the mystery of the Snarl of Fate, infiltrating the luxurious Temple of Eternal Perfection after purging Creation of the villainous Anathma Tetsu.

This preview has been sanctioned by Chejop Kejak.

“Kazmina,” she said, gently shaking the wizard, “you've got to change me back now... Or tell me what's going on.”

Kazmina wasn't fully awake. “What's wrong?” she mumbled, propping up on her left arm.

“This doesn't feel wrong, that's what's wrong! I'm forgetting what I'm supposed to be, just like when we were geese. By the time we go to see Psavian, I'm afraid I'll have forgotten why I came back to find Tsavila!”

“There's a haunt; do you make away with it, you'll have sweet supper and soft bed.”

“A haunt?” Kazmina asked, dismayed.

“A phantasm, a ghost?” the woman said. “In the barn yonder.”

Somewhat boring possibly.
Giving us an idea.

And, as usual, short :)

And so we dive, nose deep, if not deeper.
Well, sort of?

And yes, too short again..
A slow writer.

More background I'm afraid.
The buildup being i n t e n s e.
Or just, plain boring? :)

“Don’t you recognize your best friend, Arron?” He stared at her again and she bared her teeth at him in what could, possibly, be taken for a smile by the truly unobservant.

Had to give up, on making it making sense :)
We'll see?

And yes, another short one.
(a little longer now.)
=

A part more.

It's hard deciding the mode here, don't know how serious I should be.
Too serious, it becomes boring. To little, and it won't work for me.

Damned if I do, damned if I don't :)

I wring it as I write, and mood has a lot to do with it.
I'm not a very disciplined writer I'm afraid.

“I'll be lucky if my father even attends. He doesn't have much time for those of us who didn't inherit his power. But my brothers and my cousins on my mother's side will be there, they're fun to be with, and some of our neighbors I know well... and my sister. You'll like her; she's pretty.”

She was, and he did.