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Chapter 9 “Huzzah, dead witch!” Carlotta calls out triumphantly, as she deals the deathblow to the villain. After some celebration, the group packs up their things and mills about in conversation about times and work schedules. Most filter out, including Carlotta. Emma remains to return the dice to Dolla. Dreading the prospect of direct conversation with the man she steels herself for the interaction by reassuring herself he is just a person. She finds him cleaning up after the group in his dining room. His appearance is still off-putting to her. Not a hair out of place, his eyes too clear, skin too perfect. She shakes off the feeling and thrusts the dice bag out to him. He takes it without a word and opens it, taking out the D20. “You seemed uncomfortable. Are you alright?” he askes after admiring the D20. Shrugging, Emma leans against the table, “Yeah. Thanks for letting me borrow the dice.” “I heard from Carlotta you pledged never to play again. Something about a

Chapter 8 Panting, his breath coming in bursts of mist in the bone-chilling cold, Alboin clutches his ribs as he crouches in the near-dark of the cavern, blood soaking through is leather armor and darkening the brown to a glistening black. There are so many places he could slip into the shadows and save his own skin, but that holds its own risk. Anything could be lurking there to finish him off if he flees. Abandoning his hope to flee, his eyes settle back on the witch that wounded him. The resemblance is striking. The alabaster mask on it’s face looks just like Daneith, if younger and paler, and twisted. Where Daneith has a warm and welcoming face, this witch has a cold and dark demeanor. The witch is more beautiful by strides, but he could feel the darkness seeping out of every pore in her body. Her face is held in a cold expression, the lips and eyes ochre and unfeeling, the skin so pale and perfect it could be porcelain, and it might be. Not that he dared to get close enough

Chapter 7 “This is ingenious. Truly. An elemental mage that evolves in power and gains new elements. Customizable and balanced. I love the idea.” Dollo exclaims while looking over Emma’s scribbled notes and character sheet. Emma responds quietly, “It’s just something I was playing with a while back. I wanted to see how it worked out. If you are okay with it.” A broad, roguish smile lights up the man’s face, “Oh, absolutely. I am honored you would trust me so far as to bring one of your ideas to my table.” His blond hair and near flawless skin were off putting enough for Emma, but the steel-grey of his eyes set her on edge. It wasn’t often people gave her a bad feeling, but she got a strange vibe from almost the moment she set eyes on him. It was almost enough for her to try to walk right back out again, but Carlotta had jumped on her as soon as she walked into the door. Nodding, and all too relieved to put distance between herself and the man, she turned and found a conveniently

Chapter 6 “Yeah, that looks like an evil witch’s lair.” Alboin says softly, looking through a break in the trees. The four of them had spent the better part of the day following dragging tracks through the woods. A woman in the village had claimed her daughter was taken and her husband killed on the road through the Ebonglade. Sure enough, there was plenty of evidence, and it led them to this clearing. In the center, strange and alien, a cave mouth protrudes from the forest floor. The earth disturbed as though the cave had burst through the very earth itself. Made of clusters of black crystals reflecting the moonlight like a dozen blades. The mouth open, gaping, and ominous. The grass and trees around the cave grey and withered. Nothing about the clearing said anything good. Around them the forest is as silent as the grave. Glad to be armed and hidden, Alboin peers around the clearing, but sees nothing. The only way in the cave mouth, which he was obviously not going to

Chapter 5 It took several hours of searching through boxes and bins of the wreckages of her years as a Storyweaver before the first pangs of guilt struck her. Bent figures and torn pages tearing at her conscience as she searched for the notebook that held the information she wanted. Finally, at the bottom of a bin full of castle walls, she found it. Skimming the contents, she was reminded of the moments that led to the creation of the character class. She had seen so many players try to make specialized spellcasters. As she watched the creation of so many characters she realized that the best elemental spells were scattered among specialized classes. They were denied to those that could, and should be able to utilize them. She wished to unclassify them and create a true elementalist mage. By modifying the spell requirements from divine or natural components to arcane ones she had created spell lists that she believed were balanced in each element. Fire, water, earth, Air. She

Chapter 4 “By the gods, Daneith. Nearly a year we chase this witch, and what do we have to show for it?” A massive, scarred hand slams down on the table, clattering cups and plates. The other patrons of the musty tavern showing no reaction to the outburst, continuing to drink and converse as they had been. “Honestly, Ophion. Did you really think she would be so easy to catch? We are drawing ever closer. I know she is in the Ebonglade. We have only to be patient. We can be there in a day. I know that patience is not what you are good at, but perhaps this would be a good opportunity to practice.” Daneith chides him from across the table, a goblet in her hand and a wry grin on her small weathered face. She glances to the door briefly before taking a sip, her lighthearted expression growing dim. Sitting back, the large, tawny-haired man scoffs. He looks to his left to see what caused the change in Daneith’s demeanor. His golden eye spotting a familiar lithe, dark haired-man entering

Chapter 3 “Hey, Emma, I have this debate with my buddy. He says you can use Holy Star with Sunder if you are a Soldier Class.” A dark-haired, lanky boy with wired glasses says as he looks up at a woman sitting at a cubicle. Her dirty blonde hair falls in poorly done curls down the back of a cheap office chair. She runs a hand through the locks and turns her chair slowly around, her hazel eyes meeting the boys with a death glare. She clears her throat and says, “I told you I don’t play anymore. I quit two years ago.” The boy scoffs and folds his arms, leaning against the rickety wall of the cubicle. His neatly pressed shirt and slacks giving a trying-too-hard appearance. He makes a disappointed face and looks around the room as though searching for an escape. A pang of guilt spearing her for being rude, Emma sighs and replies, “Holy Star is a Spell action and Sunder is an Extra action, so yes. It doesn’t matter the class; if you have them both you can use them. Now, I have a

Chapter 2 Deep in an ancient forest a tall, lithe man jolts awake to the early dawn sounds of birds. His cloak slick with dew, he shakes the droplets free and wanders to the edge of camp with soundless steps. He pulls long black hair behind pointed hears and ties it back with a strip of leather. His green eyes search the dark keenly as he passes five sleeping forms in the dark, but he is seeking another. A diminutive woman with thick brown hair streaked in grey stands watch, a walking stick gripped tightly in her hand. Her large, brown eyes looking out over a ridge into a valley nearby. The early dawn light casting a cobalt glow over the trees. She turns her head slightly and says softly, “Good Morrow, Alboin. Your sleep was fraught, might I ask what plagued your dreams so?” Alboin scoffs slightly, his breath leaving a wisp of moisture in the cold morning air. Looking over the form of their five sleeping companions he says gently in a sotto voice, “I don’t know, to be

Chapter 1 “This is bullshit!” a boy’s voice screams shrilly as dice ricochets off of a wooden table, scattering across the room with violent rattles and clicks as they land on the floor. The other five people in the room duck and scramble to dodge, while the remaining girl seated opposite the boy at the head of the table makes no movement to dodge, and her face betrays no reaction to the sudden outburst, as though expecting it. The force of the plastic projectiles knocks over the cardboard screen before her and the dragon adorning it falls forward and into her lap as her carefully laid plans scatter across the floor to join the dice. Yet she remains still, unmoving. Her face stoic and holding the boy’s glare. His anger boils higher at her lack of reaction, he puts a finger out across the chaos that was once an epic battle, pointing at the girl and screams, “You are supposed to be one of the best Storyweavers in the country. Since I got here, all you have done is shoot down every