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The Gift: Chapter Eleven: PetsThe Dunmer’s home had once been the dwelling of a Telvanni wizard, but the old magician had died one night of natural causes- for a blade in a man’s chest naturally ended his life. After the mess had been cleaned and the summoned abominations had been dealt with, the dark elf had settled in.
It was a spacious home, built into a rising hill so that the wizard’s lab- the largest room- gracefully protruded from the side. The Dunmer had little use for magic, so the room was converted to a training arena. His many weapons, collected over two hundred years, hung from the walls and his “trophies” from his favorite battles and kills lined the shelves of his “office”.
Bedrooms that had once been the living quarters to novice mages lined the hallways and most had been turned into storage. The Dunmer had, of course, kept the master bedroom for himself and decorated it to fit his tastes. But his favorite rooms were the
The Gift: Chapter Ten: DiscoveryA tall Dunmer in a dark orange tunic adorned with deeply colored half spheres and a matching Mohawk strode fearlessly through the moonlit ashlands. His gray hand rested confidently on the hilt of a beautifully crafted ebony kitana, the gleam of enchantment rippling across its surface. Many a foe had met their end on its black edge, their blood dripping from the point, and it thirsted for more.
Much like its owner. The dark elf’s nighttime stroll was not a walking holiday. He was thirsty, but not desperately so. He simply preferred to maintain a regular feeding schedule. The problem was, that food had become hard to come by recently. Something was scaring prey off and he did not appreciate the competition.
So, tonight he was putting an end to whatever blighted creature had invaded his hunting territory and, perhaps, find some dinner on the side. He had been craving ashlander…
His pale eyes- the color of kwama milk- scan
A Bloody, Stupid Miracle The day we’d cured the human condition was the day I put a bullet through my head and didn’t die. It was also the day I realized how scared I actually was of death, and after hours of muscle ache from holding that gauze against my open skull, after the wound closed and everything went back to normal, I had myself a good old-fashioned brainstorm. How ironic.
But when summer came, everything had fallen to shit. The air scorched my skin and parched my tongue every time I took a breath. The sun glared down on a rapidly-collapsing world, full of the undying bastard children of cruelty and misfortune. What was one to do when their cells regenerated faster than they decomposed?
My feet hit the pavement, now littered with jagged bits of glass to snap at my toes, thoroughly baked by the blazing ball of bitter disdain high overhead. Today was worse than yesterday. Though I’d often wondered the purpose of it anymore, I
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