Thirty

The last thing Sulma grabbed was her broom. She had taken little else with her–a few extra pelts, a few pounds of cured meat, a small textile she could perhaps use as a lean-to. None of it would do her much good if she couldn’t find the man in the dark leathers. She’d seen his face, but not the path to him. But she couldn’t wait any longer. Her broom could come with her and she would dust the path as she walked it, until its destination became clear. Continue reading

Twenty-Nine

Haveraul slid Akura’a an ale. “You ready to talk?”

They’d only been able to get Akura’a back after Haveraul trudged all the way into town on his own and picked up Laterra, Darben, Rovel, and one of their carts. Without Laterra’s muscle it would have been an impossible task, but they somehow managed to hoist the limp orc–if a lump as thick and calloused as an orc could ever really be limp–into the cart. Continue reading

Twenty-Eight

“I really don’t see why we’re doing this for them,” Lilith said. Ophelia and Beatrice were roaming the shelves of the library, grabbing every alchemical text they could find. Lilith, who sometimes at least started a task with them, sat this one out from the start, twirling her hair and punctuating long silences with occasional complaints. Continue reading