thud-thudded on the dirt.
A lion, he thought. Holy Mother of the Plains, a lion!
“My present, to you,” whispered Orlana, kissing his neck again and rising, stepping away.
“No!” Tuboda wanted to scream, as the great lion reared over him and his autonomy returned too late…
It leapt, fangs sinking into him, and they rolled together and… and everything was hot like a furnace and he was sinking into the lion and the lion into him, and his mind went blank and then flowed like thick honey; and then the pain struck him, every single atom of his body wrenching apart as dark magick burned, and he merged with the lion and all he knew was the pain – which became everything, and nothing, and seemed to last…
For. Ever.
HARSH TIMES
Rokroth was a town bordering on the size of a small city. It was busy, in that buildings crowded one another and the population outweighed the housing. The vast Rokroth Marshes to the south and west provided much employment, for they were warm and rich in fast-breeding eels; a delicacy favoured in the wealthy capital city of Drakerath, and the military capital of Vagan, and also sought out by minor nobles and dignitaries throughout Vagandrak seeking to impress by replicating the dishes on the royal table. There were other uses for the creatures; as well as food, eel-skin leather was smooth and very strong, and an eel’s blood was toxic to humans and formed the basis for various apothecary drugs and poisons.
Throughout Rokroth, street gangs of homeless children ran through the mud. Dogs barked. Whores whored and dandies paraded. The rain came down hard. It always rained in Rokroth. It was an ongoing joke, although few found it truly funny. Especially those who lived there.
It was seven in the morning, and an optimistic sun was attempting to burn the mist from the streets and fields and marshes. Winter was nearly here and soon the lands of Vagandrak would be conquered by the Gods of Ice and Snow.
Kiki lay in a cellar back room. It was not an underground tavern exactly, it was just a place to go.
It was dark. The room was filled with low, comfy couches. Smoke filled the air. Thick, and choking, but ultimately, a smoke of comfort.
Figures sprawled throughout the gloom like discarded gloves.
Kiki lay on a couch against the far wall, away from doors and the narrow, ceiling-level windows. Her back rested against solid underground stone. It was the way she liked it. The way it had to be. She’d seen too many friends stabbed in the back – metaphorically, as well as physically – to squander her liver without a fight. Even under the effects of the leaf.
The honey-leaf.
A flower of beauty, honesty, power, truth, pain and misery. Kiki laughed to herself. A small trickle of brown spit dribbled from the corner of her mouth.
You survived, she told herself.
You always survive.
He was close, said her sister in the mirror. He nearly had you. Nearly killed you. Nearly fucked you over; took your body and soul. Once, Kiki, you would have taken him in the blink of an eye.
What are you trying to say?
Smoke drifted, thick and cloying. Voices burbled, unreal a background chatter of noise and stench and casual sex.
I’m not trying to say anything. I am saying – you are growing old. Slow. Fat. Decadent. Pointless. Pointless, Kiki; you’ve changed, woman. You’ve changed from being a lethal awesome warrior, a killing machine, to being a slow fat slave. You rule the drug; the drug never rules you. That’s what you told me. Told me a million times over. And now look at you. Look at the state of you. You’re a fucking disgrace. Soon, you’ll be opening your legs just for a taste of the leaf. When the money’s gone. And the money always goes.
Kiki considered this.
“Go to hell,” she laughed, she giggled, and placed another leaf under her tongue. Then she put her hand over her mouth and gasped, eyes wide. “But then, how can you go to hell, Suza? You’re already there, right? You had
A lion, he thought. Holy Mother of the Plains, a lion!
“My present, to you,” whispered Orlana, kissing his neck again and rising, stepping away.
“No!” Tuboda wanted to scream, as the great lion reared over him and his autonomy returned too late…
It leapt, fangs sinking into him, and they rolled together and… and everything was hot like a furnace and he was sinking into the lion and the lion into him, and his mind went blank and then flowed like thick honey; and then the pain struck him, every single atom of his body wrenching apart as dark magick burned, and he merged with the lion and all he knew was the pain – which became everything, and nothing, and seemed to last…
For. Ever.
HARSH TIMES
Rokroth was a town bordering on the size of a small city. It was busy, in that buildings crowded one another and the population outweighed the housing. The vast Rokroth Marshes to the south and west provided much employment, for they were warm and rich in fast-breeding eels; a delicacy favoured in the wealthy capital city of Drakerath, and the military capital of Vagan, and also sought out by minor nobles and dignitaries throughout Vagandrak seeking to impress by replicating the dishes on the royal table. There were other uses for the creatures; as well as food, eel-skin leather was smooth and very strong, and an eel’s blood was toxic to humans and formed the basis for various apothecary drugs and poisons.
Throughout Rokroth, street gangs of homeless children ran through the mud. Dogs barked. Whores whored and dandies paraded. The rain came down hard. It always rained in Rokroth. It was an ongoing joke, although few found it truly funny. Especially those who lived there.
It was seven in the morning, and an optimistic sun was attempting to burn the mist from the streets and fields and marshes. Winter was nearly here and soon the lands of Vagandrak would be conquered by the Gods of Ice and Snow.
Kiki lay in a cellar back room. It was not an underground tavern exactly, it was just a place to go.
It was dark. The room was filled with low, comfy couches. Smoke filled the air. Thick, and choking, but ultimately, a smoke of comfort.
Figures sprawled throughout the gloom like discarded gloves.
Kiki lay on a couch against the far wall, away from doors and the narrow, ceiling-level windows. Her back rested against solid underground stone. It was the way she liked it. The way it had to be. She’d seen too many friends stabbed in the back – metaphorically, as well as physically – to squander her liver without a fight. Even under the effects of the leaf.
The honey-leaf.
A flower of beauty, honesty, power, truth, pain and misery. Kiki laughed to herself. A small trickle of brown spit dribbled from the corner of her mouth.
You survived, she told herself.
You always survive.
He was close, said her sister in the mirror. He nearly had you. Nearly killed you. Nearly fucked you over; took your body and soul. Once, Kiki, you would have taken him in the blink of an eye.
What are you trying to say?
Smoke drifted, thick and cloying. Voices burbled, unreal a background chatter of noise and stench and casual sex.
I’m not trying to say anything. I am saying – you are growing old. Slow. Fat. Decadent. Pointless. Pointless, Kiki; you’ve changed, woman. You’ve changed from being a lethal awesome warrior, a killing machine, to being a slow fat slave. You rule the drug; the drug never rules you. That’s what you told me. Told me a million times over. And now look at you. Look at the state of you. You’re a fucking disgrace. Soon, you’ll be opening your legs just for a taste of the leaf. When the money’s gone. And the money always goes.
Kiki considered this.
“Go to hell,” she laughed, she giggled, and placed another leaf under her tongue. Then she put her hand over her mouth and gasped, eyes wide. “But then, how can you go to hell, Suza? You’re already there, right? You had
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