There is a place among the dimensions where heroes are born and die each day, where gods and mortals struggle to coexist, and where there are at least seven kinds of magic but only two of them can conjure tasty desserts. Yes, it is a tough world to live in, but it is also one of adventure and fantasy galore. This world is Calemor.
in Fannen-Dar is quiet. It's not silent, because there are certainly
noises that the town makes. Rats squeak and scurry across the empty
streets. The Crook hums from the result of whatever magical
experiments the wizards who reside there were up to that day. The
town is not slumberous either, for there are very few who actually
sleep at night in Fannen-Dar. Many are up to what is often referred
to as “no good,” but what the perpetrators themselves would
rather call “entrepreneurial endeavors.” Many others are awake
because they are wary of the first group.
Fannen-Dar is quiet at night. Movements are made slowly, carefully,
stealthily, but there is always someone who hears you when you sneak.
Voices are kept to whispers, until a trade goes bad. A sudden shout
cut off short does so much more to make the night quiet than silence
whispered curse does its part as well.
lock picks!” A short figure was flattened up against a door on an
empty street. The guards were conveniently absent from their patrols
as he fiddled with the handle and, more importantly, the lock
underneath. He did not need to crouch, for he only stood three and a
half feet tall. The keyhole was at eye level.
thief put the thin bits of broken metal back into one of his many
pockets and pulled out a dagger. “Should'a done this in the first
place,” he muttered, jamming the dagger into the keyhole. The
blade began to glow red, outlining the faint runes etched onto its
side with dim light. The metal keyhole melted as the blade slid
through, until the door swung upon with only a soft creak.
thief looked around before slipping his dagger back in its sheath and
stepping inside, where he figured it would be safe to talk to
place they got here,” he said. His voice was rough for someone
with the body of a ten-year-old human child. He chewed on pipe-gum
in between his out-loud thoughts. “Too bad for them.”
building was mostly one large room, with rafters above that were
eerily devoid of avian or insect life. Stacks of barrels and crates
formed the only landmarks around the room. The halfling opened the
lid of one marked with a thin green leaf. “They sure keep this
place tidier than back in the Hill.” Chew, chew. “Then again,
we only got one type of supply.”
he said after walking down a side isle. Pressed into the groove
between the floorboards, in such a way as to be invisible unless one
was looking for it, was a black string. The halfling followed it,
noting that it ran through each stack until he reached the center of
the warehouse. There was a pile of boxes, stacked together a bit
more unevenly than the others, that were each labeled a purple
opened one of the crates, and what was inside did not, in any way,
resemble a purple squiggle.
good. Looking good,” he murmured, around the gob of gunk against
his gum. “Seems a shame to waste it all,” he added with a laugh.
halfling bent down and found where the wire entered the pile. He
brought his dagger back out to cut the line, then took the pipe-gum
out of his mouth. The sticky glob had turned black from seeping in
his saliva for so long. He molded it until it was as thin as the
wire, then connected the severed wire to either end of his slimy
sculpture. He stood back up when he was finished, and from his new
vantage point, the wire looked untouched.
to it,” he said. He chuckled to himself as he walked back towards
the front door, making sure to snag a few chunks of yellowish chalky
material from an ajar barrel before leaving. He closed the door
behind him and popped out the now useless lock, then swapped it with a
fresh one from one of his pockets and jammed it into place. The
halfling looked over both shoulders before slipping back into the
shadows, not quite silently, but at least quietly. The building
looked no different from before he had entered. Except
for the broken lock pick lying on the floor next to the stack of
crates marked with purple squiggles. << Prologue, Heroes << Chapter 6, Powder Chapter 8, Sewage >>