On a quest to redeem centuries of family shame, Jude reaches the last leg of his quest to defeat the monster Bheanoira. "Sounds interesting!"
ude lowered the map to study the horizon. A warm breeze blew his black sweat dampened hair into his face. From the top of the hill he saw a small town in the distance, given away by the specks of light burning bright against the dimming eastern sky. Beyond the town looked black as if the complete absence of light cupped the small village, able to snuff it out with a mere clap. He would have to wait until first light to verify, the darkness was the perilous wood of legends.
His hand traced down th...
ir Gregory’s journal was as outdated as Jude’s family’s welcome in Rijk. Luch’s hooves clop-clopped with each step on the stoned road into the town. Gold lanterns hung at intervals on high golden poles lining the streets. The market was abuzz with traders, with the locals distinguishable by their clean, tight fitting clothing. Jude deflated his posture, noting his barbarian attire in comparison to the Sciorta townspeople.
Mae had worn regular trader’s clothing. He lo...
ow, back to Sir Gregory. Did your pa tell you the stories as a child?”
“I read them, Lord..?”
“Bearbóir, but I often just go by Bear.”
The old man’s name translated to barber in the old language. What luck! But then this meeting seemed all too good to be true. The man pegged him in an instant, knowing his quest. His entire demeanor seemed to know far more than Jude offered. Something was quite off about this entire village.
A loud crash woke Jude from his puddle of drool. His eyes focused with a keen clarity he was not expecting. No pain accompanied his consciousness. Perhaps he had simply been exhausted. The state of his personal effects said otherwise. The contents of his satchel laid in a careful spread on a small run in the middle of the room. The door was open just a crack. Jude sat up fast, his senses sharp and his belt still heavy with Diamont, the magical sword cut from a solid diamond, the only weapon powerful enou...
he General Store was a massive barn of a building lined in reflective gold sheets and full of trading booths of all sorts, like the street market only doubled. Four rows of stations made two alleys down the full length of the barn. The air swirled of exotic herbs carried by wind coming from wide open windows near the high ceiling. An amber glow was given off by glass orbs spaced evenly on the walls.
“Does he have a booth somewhere in here?”
“Oh, no suh. He owns the stowa.&r...