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Status: Finished  |  Genre: Fantasy  |  House: Booksie Classic
A great odyssey through the forgotten realms of Faerun.

Submitted: March 25, 2008

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Submitted: March 25, 2008



"Hither came Conan the Cimmerian, black-haired, sullen-eyed, sword in hand,
a thief, a reaver, a slayer, with gigantic melancholies and gigantic mirth,
to tread the jeweled thrones of the earth under his sandled feet."
- Robert E Howard
By |: Wyatt Weisman

In the forest of Arden, The new fallen snow of the night before rests gently on the sagging branches of the surrounding pines. The blissful silence echoes through the dark forest and the evening sun sets on the horizon as the last gleams of sunshine pierce through the restless pines while they sway in the gentle breeze.

The echoing crackle of the small fire amongst the forest could be heard for miles for the deathly silence that lurked behind the group of travelers huddled around the fire.
"My belly aches with hunger." Adoam the swordsmen groaned, leaning back on the stump he used as a seat holding his stomach. The other four men glanced over to Adoam, shaking their heads.
"Drelik, a tale to pass the time perhaps?" one of the men sitting in the circle around the fire spoke. The man by the name Drelik glanced up from starring into the embers of the dying fire, the light from the flames cast shadows across his stern face as he tightened his cloak around himself shifting closed to the fire.
“"Nay. I am no storyteller Jager." Drelik grunted, while rubbing his hands together for warmth as an owl hooted in the night and Drelik glanced behind him into the darkness of the forest.

"Sleep eludes me, I shall take first watch." the other men nodded in silent agreement, and unrolled their sleeping mats and blankets while slowly settling down close to the fire, bundling up nice and warm as they slowly drifted to sleep. Drelik glanced into the darkness listening intently for the slightest sound, but all that could be heard was the crackle of the dying embers and the heavy breathing of the sleeping travelers. Drelik placed a hand on the hilt of his sword, tightening his grip.

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