Alessia watched from the balcony of the castle as the long column of victorious soldiers filed through the city gates far below. At their head, she knew, though she couldn’t see him clearly from her vigil, rode her brother, Marius.
With a merry jaunt, the elven ranger, known to most only as Dew, entered the townstead of Tallow just as the sun-kissed the western horizon, sending fountains of citrus and strawberry across the sky. Clothed from head to toe in tight fitted, emerald attire one would customarily associate with her ilk, she made a drastic contrast to the townsfolk who yet trundled down the town’s main, and only, avenue, clothed as they were in drab shades of grey, brown, or burgundy. Despite this distinction, she was met with naught but hearty greetings at her passing, marking the familiarity with which the town held her, and she them, for she returned each hail with an equally exuberant one of her own.
n the early morning hours, Syla crept from her bed. Among her elf-kin around her not one stirred, and though she knew that her footfalls would wake none, still softly did she tread. The tribe that she was staying with currently was a migratory one and, though she was not one of them, she knew that they would judge her for her actions that morn should they discover her motives.
On a clouded, windy night, down a dingy backstreet in the City of San Francisco, a lone woman strode boldly and alone. Her low-heeled steps, emitted by knee-highs, crunching audibly upon loose gravel and discarded needles. The sounds magnified against the looming brick walls on either side. Rats, roaches, and other such vermin scurried from her path and those cast-off peoples who dwelled there on the ever-shrinking fringes of society shrunk away, covering their faces so as not to catch her eye.
It was the strange sounds that roused the man from his slumber. The snuffling of inquisitive noses as well as the soft crunching of careful footsteps in fresh fallen snow. Through small spaces in the walls of his cabin, the light of the full moon shone but every now and then one of these meager sources of light would go dark for but a moment as some hulking form passed.
It was nearing midnight, and the small roadside bar in west Texas was preparing to wrap up another slow night. The day was October the 30th, and as the minutes ticked closer to the witching hour, the world drew closer to all hallows eve. A soft, cool wind blew in from the west, disturbing the … Continue reading The Witch of West Texas