Fiction

A Turning

A voyage to resupply the Bleakrock Isle garrison was never an easy one, but the Skald-King always made sure the Sirensbane was well paid for their efforts. And once the trip was done it was always time for a night of carousing in the Fish Stink Tavern, to end in lamentations and missing clothing. Molly shifted her chair closer to the fire, careful to keep her mug of mead from spilling. The night was not as chilly as the nights up north in Bleakrock, but still the sea air was still crisp.

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Entertaining Despair

Rose was not fond of March, its limbo between winter and spring gave her a feeling of hanging in midair. The days were cold but without snow, somewhat wet but nothing bloomed. It reminded her of an indecisive middle-aged man failing to pick out a suit coat - not something she actively hated but was annoyed only when she happened to encounter it. The day that Despair came knocking was a perfect example of March. Drizzle would fall for ten minutes and stop, the sun would make a pathetic effort to break through a cloud and every once in a while the wind made a little noise.

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