ahem.
Let us test the waters.

And no, just wrote it so it can be better, well, hopefully so?
And don't you laugh.

Background mostly, we all need to see where they come from, don't we :)
(Especially me.)

A preliminary, unchecked chapter.
Don't expect too much from it.

Don't know what you think.
Too contrived?

(and short too:)

* This is a tentative continuance, no guarantees.
All because vanity calls.

I hope you won't be too disappointed.
We'll see if it works, or not.

==

.

There’s a mountain, and no, I’m not speaking of one of those thin ones, those fashionably slim, elegantly cutting through the air. You know, the ones that all mountaineers so dearly love.

Sorry, I know it's a short one.
And yeah, I'm glad some enjoyed it.
It's, as always, a pleasure writing for you.

(And a slight update)

Wine Can't be Pressed into Grapes

by Trismegistus Shandy

Part 1 of 22

The man had evidently been traveling on foot for a long time. His clothes were rags that barely covered his nakedness, and his cheekbones, ribs, and hips stood out against flesh from which all the fat and too much of the muscle had been burned off some time ago.

A story about two boys on a drug fueled adventure, pretty much.

(DON'T do drugs, and DON'T read this if you're under 18)

“Beria--dan--wen” she slowly spoke, the dagger almost seem to speak to her it name as her mind translated the elven runes. “Beriadanwen”

She felt her legs turning to lead and her side ache as if pierced by a sharp knife. She knew her limit had been reached but kept going anyway. Even so it surprised her when the ground jumped up and hit her in the face.

 
Prince Henry Wynter was the Heir to the High Throne of the Heptarchy and prophesised to one day lead his people to unparalleled greatness. Twenty two years after he abandoned his destiny and his throne for the chance to be the person he felt he was meant to be, he finds that Fate has not yet finished with him. The events surrounding the proposed appointment of a new Heir to the High Throne have consequences that reach as far the remote farmstead refuge of the former prince and threaten to destroy the new life that she has built for herself.

Slurping back the tea Rall stared at the sword. “We need to talk I think.”

Smiling at him she offered her elegant hand as if to pull him up from the water. “Come,” she said, “Dance with me on the waters and lie with me on the sand.”

Healing Mishap -19-
By Lanzaq

“Still trying I see.” Darrius said laughing his attack flowing together making an almost impenetrable defense in itself. “I thought I would take you alive, however after everything you have put me through I don’t think so! “ He roared going for a killing blow only to find his daggers slicing through the now molten metal of Ash’s two handed sword.

Healing Mishap -18-
By LanzaQ

She smiled at Darrius, masking her own apprehension. "C'mon then," she said as she lunged at him with the sword, only to watch his terrible daggers easily deflect the rapier. "Or perhaps I need a little more weight?" She twirled the sword as it grew into a large flat-bladed gladius.

 
Moon Harper - Part 3
 
by Armond
 
 
I am now Shauna Deirbhile, and with my harp á€ine, I work miracles with my music. I'm dealing with a lot, hey? Mere days ago I was clueless Sean Derhill. Turning into a teenage girl has become the least of my worries, for I cannot explain the magic that flows from my harp strings, and it frightens me. The issue may be moot; the Fomors have marshalled all their resources to stop me from working a ritual that will switch me back. They want me dead dead dead.
 

Xabriar gripped the copper bowl full of dark water, his knuckles white around its edge, and forcibly restrained himself. The tools of his trade were becoming more valuable to him by the day, and this one let him see more of the distant goings on than most. He left it on the bench and stalked across the room, muttering to himself.

Cale’s waiting paid off an hour after dusk. The lights on the third floor flicker out in the adjacent inn. Soon the two girls would be fast asleep; a few drops of crushed night weed and the two would never awaken. A painless death, it was the least he could do.