BLOOD OF ASTERION: introBLOOD OF ASTERION: intro2 years ago in Introductions & Chapters More Like This
Names are important.
There's a truth hidden in a name, and the adept can uncover this clue to the true nature of things. This was known to the young traveller, who now traded the right side of the mountain path for the left, where she thought the wind and the flying snow to be less intense. It had seemed an attractive route on the map, but the name of this Flensing Pass had been a forewarning to this night's hardship: its high altitude and north-western trajectory, straight as the blade of a knife, gave wind, snow, sleet and ice free reign. The orcs of the region believed that the Pass was where the god Bahgtru had accidentally dropped the axehead he had been forging, and the bare, steep rock-face on both sides certainly endorsed this impression, more so because this night, each crack and furrow had been clogged and glazed over by the flying ice and snow.
The young traveller knew she would not be running into any orcs tonight: her destination was already too close-by for that, and even
Bastard Princess Stories Ch 1:The Joys of FlyingBastard Princess Stories Ch 1:The Joys of Flying3 years ago in Humor More Like This
In the skies over Waterdeep early one morning, a cry could be heard...
"For the love of the Spider Bitch! Put me down now you... you... great, stupid corby!!"
Alastríona sighed for the third time in almost as many minutes, debating the merits of pointing out the absurdity of the insult. Given the dire nature of their situation - fleeing Fire Knives assassins and seeking refuge with ancient and powerful dragons, a plan that only Bérénice could come up with and pull off - it seemed a bit inappropriate. Alastríona, though quite the pacifist normally, could never say no to a jab at the prickly drow. She ticked the points off on her fingers, which left Cal'lantar to dangle by only the strap around his torso; a leather loop that she'd attached to her belt for occasions just such as this one.
"I'm not black skinned, I'm not even remotely related to a bird at all, and corbies don't even fly. Really, Cal'lantar, in your hundred-and-seventy years of life