A stone-headed arrow punched through the canvas side of the wagon, narrowly missing Marian’s head. She ducked and another poked through right where her head had been. She pulled the front cover up to see what was going on only to have the wagon lurch under her feet as it sped up, throwing her backwards. …
Marian They revealed themselves in the flashing light of the storm. They were not what one might expect when picturing elves. Green and brown clothing was ragged and bore stains of dirt and grass. Weapons were simply made and there was no metal. Instead of swords, they wielded spears with stone heads. A couple had …
He ducked. “I’m kidding! You’re priceless!” Marian glared at him but let the spell vanish harmlessly. She remained cross. “Fine. So? Now what? You’ve got a horse and wagon. What do we do with it? Are we supposed to get the cryo slimes now?” It was a good question. Hadiin looked around in thought. “What …
Hadiin escorted poor, broken Grace towards the edge of the village. She smelled awful and was probably dehydrating herself from crying so much. So he kept her at arms reach as he guided her down the dirt road. From behind, they heard the sound of a man screaming, his flesh burning, boiling and popping. And …
“Mother of a retarded goat!” Hadiin spat in anger. “Ow!” Pain might be lessened in the game, but an arrow in the leg still hurt. “Hide!” Marian shouted, diving into the cover of a nearby bush. Hadiin yanked the arrow out and hobbled after her. You are bleeding… Great. He sourly watched his HP tick …
Hadiin returned to the starting village with a decided spring in his step, visions of gold coins in his head. The sky was suddenly bluer, the day, like his prospects, brighter. Then they emerged from the forest onto the village’s dirt streets and, surrounded by the little huts and shabby population, reality came crashing down. …
Hadiin reached up and twirled his long, luxurious, handlebar moustache, one that turned up at the ends in delightfully expressive curls. Because of course he had a twirl-able moustache; all the greats did: Snidely Whiplash, Captain Hook, Cardinal Richelieu. Not that he considered himself a dastardly villain, by any means, of course. By damn, did …
“Love the class selection. Couldn’t be any more typical, could it? Warrior, fighter, paladin, mage, thief, assassin, berserker, boring, boring, boring…” Standing in a black void on a floor of black glass, Hadiin scrolled through the list of class options with disinterest. They appeared before him, lifelike and human sized, vibrant and powerful representations of …