Like most dwarves growing up in Barlagtelen, Boundless Imagination had three parents. There were home parents, Hansel and Petro Lagarban, her two fathers who had adopted her when she was just a baby, and there was Hilda Silverspine, her guildmother who instructed Boundless Imagination in the ways of tinkering, fixing, and building since she was could swing a hammer. Continue reading “Boundless Imagination”
Pif, Deacon, Alph, and the newcomer all sat huddled around a meal of jerky, cheese, and fruit, filling their bellies after a long day. Off to the side, the Trans-It! energy canister rattled softly as it recharged the five Minitoa’s Double A’s. Almo’s breathing complimented the machine’s rhythm perfectly, a musical reminder of how bad their situation was. Below, Odd & Ends was quiet. The shop was closed for the day, and the owner had retired to his room. Continue reading “Left Behind, Part Three”
To be honest, Alph rather liked Skymoore.
He wasn’t fond of being stranded and fighting for resources, and he wished the city were of a more convenient size, but it was nice. Back on Ernadam, everything was metal and factories and smog. Skymoore had a little metal and a little smog, but mostly it was quaint. And their blue sky and green plants were much more pleasant than the purples and reds of home.
But it was nice to breathe normally.
Yet Alph couldn’t bring himself to care about getting home as much as everyone else. It wasn’t home he wanted. It was peace.
But there would be no peace today. Continue reading “Left Behind, Part Two”
Deacon stood beside Lilm, his sister, in a field of purple grass. Before them, a rotted temple struggled to stay upright. The sky was the crisp red of a summer afternoon on Aldom. A hundred of their people, all of whom were genetically identical to Abraham Lincoln (not that one) had congregated there, and now watched the pair expectantly.
“I can’t do it,” Lilm said. “What if it doesn’t work?”
“We are faithful,” Deacon said, offering his eight-fingered-hand. “It will work.” Continue reading “Left Behind, Part One”
As it is often wont to do, time passed. Continue reading “Comings & Goings, Part Two”
Before moving to Skymoore, Linda Arterford spent some time in self-imposed hermitage. It was a nice life, at first. A pleasant contrast to the constant travel and bloodshed that had composed the years before it. But even paradise grows dull through repetition, so when Donovan Allman invited her to live in Skymoore, she accepted without a second thought. She’d spent much of the second half of her life traveling from place to place, encountering unusual customs and new ways of living. How hard could it be to adjust in Skymoore? Continue reading “Comings & Goings, Part One”
Dug fell flat on his back as the flock hit him like a rushing river flowing past, through, and over him as he was caught in their current. He staggered to his feet and away from the toolshed just in time to be struck again. This time he twirled away from the center, and was merely grazed by the talons of passing birds.
They moved through the air like a vibrant swarm of insects – such perfect unison that they appeared as one, fluid creature. Any other time, Dug would be struck by their beauty. Now, as they made an elegant turn toward him, Dug was wondering how he could possibly stop them. Continue reading “Dug Pifton’s Brand New Perspective, Part Three”
Eleanor Pifton, Dug’s mother, was the owner of Taffy Toffee Tungsten, Skymoore’s only combination candy shop/rare metal emporium. Seawater taffy had been a staple of the town back when it was on the surface, and it remained popular among traveling merchants to this day. Continue reading “Dug Pifton’s Brand New Perspective, Part Two”
Dug Pifton had a lot of things for which he was very fortunate. He had a mother and a father who wanted what was best for him, even if he didn’t always understand that. He had a pleasant home, even if the carpets did smell funny and the roof leaked from time to time. He had friends, even though they weren’t always the best friends. And he had an apprenticeship at Skymoore’s Druid Circle, for which he knew he had to be very grateful even though he didn’t like it much. Continue reading “Dug Pifton’s Brand New Perspective, Part One”
“What if they’re right?”
“Right.” Percival chirped hoarsely. His mandibles clicked arrhythmically. “About?”
“About. What if it really is safer down here?”
“Does this look safe, Eli?”
Ellidina considered their surroundings. Percival – a sectum, a four-armed humanoid insect – stood in an identical stone cell opposite hers, separated by a clear material that wasn’t glass, with small holes so they could speak. Each room had an identical, seamless iron door. They had dim magical light five hours a day. This wasn’t one of them. Continue reading “Two Miles”