Artwork by Doan Trang
Artwork by Doan Trang
Prince Algor sat in silence. His room lit only by candles that cast a warm glow reflecting off the Prince’s slick skin. Astral communication was a new technique the Slime Elder Magi had taught him to keep in contact with them, and as Algor’s body sat safely in the tower of the Royal Castle of Slime City his astral form was conferring with the Magi and the Voice of the Gods. The drums of war had been beating louder and louder as Baron Dracktholm and Master Boshak grew their army larger by the day. The roads of Jalldoon were littered with raiding bandits, and fear was at an all-time high. The Voice had explained all this to Algor, but now the need for heroes was rising so action must be taken. Continue reading
Toron wiped the sweat from his brow as he hopped back from the bolt he had been tightening on the large metal arm in front of him. Taking a long swig from his goblet he looked over his latest creation…a large suit of armor. The slime made his way behind a blast shield with a small remote as he thought to himself “here goes nothing” before pushing the small button on the little black box he held. As he pushed the button a series of clicks could be heard followed by a small hollow clank on the floor, and after waiting a few seconds to make sure it wasn’t going to explode he stuck his head out from behind the shield and saw that the suit of armor had compacted itself into a small box.
Continued from Part 1…
Once they reached the entrance to the sewers Algor and Merrick had to use their blades to pry the rusted gate to the sewers open… So much for Karnok sanitation doing their jobs right? They lit their torches and descended into the rank sewers. Sludge covered every surface, and the light of their torches made it glisten and appear to move constantly. The stink of the Sewage of thousands of people was almost too much to bear, but the prize at the end promised to be well worth dealing with the smells. Continue reading
The moonlight glowed over the vast cemetery known as the Field of Tears as the soft hooting croak of a Frowl could be heard in the distance. Toron sat behind a Tombstone and looked over at Algor who was crouched in his heroic full body form next to a large stone cross. They had been in the cemetery for hours trying to lure an especially angry Banshee Spirit that had been terrorizing the nearby crossroads for weeks, and beyond the sounds of life all around them, Toron could hear none of the wails these creatures were known for. Suddenly the moon was obscured by clouds and a scream that would render a normal being to a quivering pile of fear echoed across the dark cemetery, and in the dark of the night, Toron could see the spectral form of the spirit floating towards their decoy slowly. Continue reading