The sonorous tolling of the Telriand Bell echoed over the city, rolling down the cobbled streets to tremble in every darkened doorway and mist-shrouded alley. To those few wakeful souls who heard it, the sound signified one thing: Halfnight had fallen over Toval. For Laeress, though, it had another meaning. The Cloaked Hour, as it was known among the Reavers, had finally begun. It was time to move...
Category: Microstories
Beginnings
A vacant room. Nondescript, yet intuitively familiar. The ambient light has an operating-room quality. Antiseptic. But oh the sepsis that has festered in untold rooms like this one. Fostered and fed. Raging.