Fresco’s eyes, described by the poet’s as limpid pools, were now surprisingly alert.
Category: high fantasy
This Textured Darkness, #50
“No wonder the skinny chit remembered him,” remarked a raven haired beauty. “Did you notice his codpiece?
This Textured Darkness, #49
The crowd was a river of confusion, pushing Mirella where she didn’t want to go.
This Textured Darkness, #48
“Give Oren Hunter a room full of air and light. Fresh rushes and women to attend his bathing.”
This Textured Darkness, #47
‘I’ve witness the Spring Calling of Spirits. I’ve seen the Gibbor open the night sky and call the spirits down.”
This Textured Darkness, #45
Oren whipped his head around, nearly losing his footing. It was the girl from the scrub oak, only she was a woman now.
This Textured Darkness, #44
From Oren’s palm a small bird flew out. Small as a bee, the three spotted falcon grew to its actual size as it winged it way above the crowd.
This Textured Darkness, #43
“I was marked by Jah when I placed my hand on the rock,” said Oren.
“The scar seems like a living thing,” remarked Fulcruchen.
This Textured Darkness #38
“My critical powers,” said the King, “though still intact, are limited by endurance. My councilor will read for me.”
This Textured Darkness, #36
The King reached for the blue feather like a dying man reaches for hope.
