Drulissa's Domain

 Hope crawled out of the icy river, pulling her sister Laira to the shore. The dark clouds swirled and boiled the skies above. The demons clambered across the log bridge down the river. The demons were heading toward them. "Run!" Hope shouted, and they took off, sprinting away from the river and the demons. "What's that?" Laira asked, pointing to a hill. Hope squinted and saw a faint light on the hill. "Someone is there." "Could be another demon," Laira said. "Demons can't make fire," Hope said. "At least, I don't think so." "We can't take the chance," Laira said. They kept running, trying to put as much distance between them and the demons. The sound of branches snapping and twigs breaking echoed through the darkness, sending a chill down Hope's spine. The smell of rotting wood and damp earth filled her nostrils, and she could taste the stale air on her tongue. She glanced behind ...

 "Laira?" Hope called, her voice shaking. The growling grew louder, and the bushes nearby rustled. "Laira?" Something emerged from the bushes. A huge, black creature, its body covered in spines. Its eyes were red and burning, and its teeth were long and sharp. It was a demon. "Laira!" The demon lunged at her, and Hope screamed, raising her hand and focusing her magic. She had no time to worry about the chaotic effects the demon invasion had on magic, only she needed to blast this demon to bits before it savagely attacked her! She unleashed a powerful blast of magical energy, sending the demon flying back. The trees nearby were raked with lightning, setting them afire and cutting the smaller ones clean in half! The demon roared in pain, its body smoking. It howled in pain, bled from a large gaping wound, and stared at her with vile hate in its eyes. Hope backed up, fear gripping her. She wasn't used to this. Demons weren't supposed...

 Laira and Hope were kneeling on the ground, and their eyes were closed. They were chanting and singing. The demons rushed towards the three of them. "Hurry, Grak!" Laira shouted. Grakdar grunted, but he did not move. The demons charged towards him, and he swung his sword, knocking the demons back. "Run, you fools!" he yelled, and he backed up. The demons swarmed around him, and he knew he had no chance. Hope grabbed his hand. Suddenly, there was a flash of light. Hope opened her eyes and stared at Laira. They were in the middle of a forest clearing, full of flowers and light. The sky was dark and full of clouds, and the air smelled of wet grass. Laira smiled, "We are safe." Hope stared at her empty hand. "The tree. You took us through the roots with a tree travel spell? But..." "It is the only way. They are our ancestors." Hope hugged her sister. "It worked." They both looked around. Grakdar was no...

The beautiful members of Magic sat around the table in the Spider, accompanied by the paladin Abaja and his love Eryawen. They had just finished a hearty meal at the inn, and were now drinking wine while discussing their plans for the following week. Rippa, the mouse-like Ratonga, walked in the tavern and waved.  Another Ratonga, Shinkeri waved back. "Hellos, Riipa!" "Hellos!" Rippa smiled. Serrest, another Ratonga and the world-famous chef of the Spider, served a table. "Heres yous ams, Ashanders.  Crayfish stews ins a sourdough breadbowls." Ashander accepted the stew readily. "Thank you kindly." Shinkeri said, "You missed all ofs us nots killing a darks elf, yes!" Riipa smiled. "Ams sorries ams missins its!" Shinkeri laughed at Riipa. Abaja nodded.  "Also missed a visit by Jallyssa, who complained there were not enough tonga here tonight." Ashander grinned at the chef again and tore off a piece of bread, "I...

 The door slammed shut. Grakdar stood there, the darkness around him, the cold stone walls and dirt floor pressing against his body. He could smell the fear of the two elves and the stench of the demon outside, and he knew he had no choice. "It is okay," Grakdar said, his deep voice echoing in the darkness. "How is this okay?" Hope said. "The demons can't get us," Laira replied. "The burial wards will keep them out." "But we are in here," Grakdar sighed. "With little food and water. Best case, we die here with a bunch of elven corpses." Hope kicked him. "Ouch!" "Stop being so negative. I'm tired of your gloomy attitude." "Sorry. Being trapped in an Elven burial mound with a pair of elves has me on edge." "Well, I'm an elf, and I'm on your side. So, get used to it," Hope said. "I suppose you are right," Grakdar replied. "Of course I...

 There are moments when I wonder why I am even here. A fight, a battle well past over, and I stand on a field of battle long devoid of life or anyone who cares. The sun has fled the heavens and not so much as a single cloud remains to muffle the sound. Nothing but silence lies before me like an ocean of blood, and in its midst stand tall of not corpses, but memories lost to time. I see them now — some are friends, others foes. Some have been loved by many, while others die alone each day with only their thoughts for company. But they all share one thing that sets them apart from those around them; something that cannot be mistaken for anything else, no matter how hard you may try. They stand tall and proud, yet they bear the scars of what was done to them on this very ground. They are dead. In this world perhaps, but live on in countless others. A life removed from this reality to continue in another place and another time. And I stand here in a field of memories which hang...

 Tyler spotted the group of dark elf refugees on a small trail to the west. He pointed at them and kicked the dragon Vaishali’s scales to get her attention. A turn of the beast’s head and she nodded, having seen them as well. Tyler held on tight as the dragon’s massive wings billowed out, the leathery hide inflating and stretching against the wind buffet as they fell, acting as massive sails of leathery cloth would slow their descent. They landed with a thud on the trail and Tyler hopped off, the paladin’s sword in hand. “I am Woodsman Tyler, holder of the Sword of Light!” The name he made for the sword attracted a curious glance from the dragon, and what he saw as a sly smirk. “I am the husband to be of Ophelia Kya Leigh, the sorceress among you who has fled and seeks to open the Waystones! I am here to help you!” The dark elf refugees, as one, turned and fled, melting away into the forest. A few stayed behind, weapons raised, covering the others’ retreat. Tyler blinked. “...