Master Capolitu selecting Tarlok as an acolyte of the Brotherhood of Warlocks #Fantasy

The Brotherhood Of Piaxia

by Michael Drakich


“Yes, I seem to recall now. Hmm, the last time I saw you, you were no more than a young boy running through the streets with the other urchins plaguing our alleys.”
“That might have been me sir, but as you can see, I have reached the age of ascension and am ready.”
“Ready you say. I decide who is ready. Still, there can be no doubt you possess the mana necessary.”
Master Capolidu paused, as if lost in thought then glanced at Avradiman and winked.
In the next instant the old man began a charade of wild gestures and loud pronouncements. “What do we have here? An aura so bright that I am near blinded by the sight of it!” He drew a large circle around the boy. “I am surprised that such an aura even exists! What is your name again, lad?”
“I am Tarlok, noble Master, son of Jurg.”
“Tarlok, son of Jurg, you say. I know a Jurg, a great fellow, commander of the guard, and his son Savan, a captain in the same guard. Surely you are not his son as well, are you?”
“The very one, Master. My father and brother are well known and they bring me great pride.”
“Well, won’t they be the proud ones when they learn of your acceptance into the Brotherhood as this year’s apprentice! Let it be marked in the records that I, Master Capolidu, select Tarlok, son of Jurg, brother of Savan, as my choice for the twenty-fourth year in the glorious reign of Lord Ramtok!”

An inexpressive warrior must find a way to bring fire to his home and his heart. May cause your kindle to combust. #Fantasy #Romance

City of Blaze

by H. O. Charles


She noticed how her footfalls reverberated around the tunnel while his did not. How did such a tall man walk with no sound at all? There must be something special about his boots, she decided. They reached the gate where Morghiad took the key from her hand, sending the usual flow of sparks and flame through her limbs. She still hadn’t quite become accustomed to it, and was increasingly frustrated at Morghiad’s utter lack of reaction.

“Stay.” He held his hand up at her and then proceeded through the gate. She could see through its iron rails that he was making straight for the cloak, now dangling limply from the cell door. The cloak shuddered and waved suddenly. It was still being held tightly by the prisoner, who was evidently proud of his prize and unable to pull it through the hole in the door. With startling speed, Morghiad snatched the prisoner’s arm and thrust it downwards. From beyond the cell door the arm’s owner screamed and released the cloak, which Morghiad caught neatly. The prisoner withdrew his arm into the cell door, whimpering quietly. Upon silent feet, the kahr returned to Artemi with the reclaimed cloak and handed it to her.

“Thank you,” she uttered. Then, “Did you break his arm?” She wasn’t sure she wanted to know the answer.
“Probably. You’d better hope they don’t talk.” He locked the gate, gave her the key and walked on. The man was inhuman! Did he have no sensibilities at all? What was to stop him from snapping her neck if she angered him? She decided to keep a little more distance behind him.