It was the day my grandmother exploded. I sat in the crematorium, listening to my Uncle Hamish quietly snoring in harmony to Bach's Mas in B minor, and I reflected that it always seemed to be death that drew me back to Gallanach.
Sorry, it's one of mine from the first thing I wrote, but one of my mates keeps reminding me of it because he loved the opening paragraph so much. The character concerned was one he had played himself in a game of AD&D, by the way, which possibly explains why the line was so memorable for him.Kurgan sat on the old wooden chest as the lantern above him swung to and fro with the motion of the boat. He glanced at his companions a moment and growled, "I say f**k the king and take the gold!"
Far out in the uncharted backwaters of the unfashionable end of the Western Spiral arm of the Galaxy lies a small unregarded yellow sun.
Orbiting this at a distance of roughly ninety-eight million miles is an utterly insignificant little blue-green planet whose ape-descended life forms are so amazingly primitive that they still think digital watches are a pretty neat idea.
Douglas Adams - The Hitchhiker's Guide to the Galaxy
It was starting to end, after what seemed most of eternity to me.
I attemped to wiggle my toes, succeeded. I was sprawled there in a hospital bed and my legs were done up in plaster casts, but they were still mine.
I squeezed my eyes shut, and opened them, three times.
The room grew steady.
Where the hell was I?
Kerridon the Mage was not what anyone would call a typical wizard. He had long despaired of ever looking the part of a mighty sorcerer. While he made every attempt at observing correct wizard etiquette and dress, by carrying the requisite gnarled wooden staff and wearing the long purple robes, he lacked the matching physical attributes in his person. Instead of long silver hair and beard, the best Kerridon could manage was short bristly gray hair and a wiry goatee. Still, at least increasing age was slowly but surely giving him the elderly venerable look, and forcing him to walk with a distinctive arthritic hobble, the latter feature meaning Kerridon was finding it more and more difficult to climb the winding stone staircase to his study.
Another millennium and another one of these damned "Ring in the New Millennium with a Bang" parties. Oh, by the River Styx, how I hate these things. Hmmm, seems that this one is going to be held in the Norse Realm, Asgard. Heh, they sent the invitation inscribed in their Futhark Runes. Well, when we held it last at Mount Olympus, I am sure Hera had all of the invitations written in our ancient Greek script. At least they didn't send it on one of their huge menhirs, just parchment. Though, it would have been funny to make Sisyphus have to role the damn thing up the hill.
Party at Valhalla
I wrote this based off of my own RPG experiences. It takes place in the Shadowrun world. Sci-Fantasy.As far as they usually go, I had seen better days... or nights for that matter, since it actually was night when the people that I was trying to find got jumped on the haunted moors by 3 big, ugly and mean lookin' Formori... What? What is a Formori? Oh... ummm... well, they're a dark and shaggy breed of troll, about 8 to 9 feet tall. They're native to Tir Na Nog, which was recently know as Ireland before its ancient name was brought back. Formori generally like to live in the moors, which is why those of us native here generally avoid the moors, particularly the haunted ones. I don't think that these guys were all that native.
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