human in such a
way, especially one whose Halfling roots were so far removed from the hierarchy
of true magicks. Humans were forbidden to touch, to taste or to draw the scent
of the spice-laced spores into themselves. To do so was a crime upon both
magick as well as humanity. But there were those, so very few within the human
lands, whose blood craved the magick that swirled about the Causeway. Those who
felt a hunger for it far worse even than a drunkard’s need for his drink.
Humans such as Arabella.
A thousand years past her ancestor, a Spry prince with no
twin still living nor chance to rise above his brothers to the throne, had
slipped to the human lands. His desire for his human lover had consumed him,
causing him to cut all ties to his magick roots.
The legacy of his birth had left his line with the power to
survive within the mists and turn away the creatures of dark magick that
inhabited them. It had also left them in true danger of meeting the fate of so
many others her father Alistair the Perverted had managed to uncover.
Moving quickly along a narrow, almost hidden path, Arabella
found the entrance to the valley she sought. Stepping past the rising obelisks
inscribed with graceful script of a long-ago language, she nearly staggered
from the feel of magick suddenly surrounding her.
Should any place hold true magick then it was here, in this
place. It infused her. She grew giddy within its fold, drawing it into her,
feeling it rise around her, inside her, as though welcoming her once more.
Beauty surrounded her in the form of great rising trees
whose leafy abundance parted in a multitude of steps to catch the rays of the
sun beaming overhead and spill them to the lush grass beneath.
Fabled tweeterlings flew overhead, their wings stretched
wide to catch the warming currents of magick that flowed through the land.
Blooms of all shapes and sizes, all manner of colors and
designs filled bush and brush and through it all a many-layered path of marble
said to enhance all forms of magick spread out between lush greenery and blooms
in all directions.
Winsome, fluttering puffs of seed resembling puffers, the
tiny feathery flowers that as a child she had made wishes upon before they flew
free of their stems, filled the air. The incredibly soft forms never fell to
the ground. As though moored to the breeze itself they danced with capricious
abandon about her as she hurried along the path leading to the heated springs
where her warriors always awaited her.
She knew they awaited.
She always knew when they rested within this place of
magick.
She could feel them calling for her in a way that reminded
her that her magick might be separated by at least a thousand years but still
it pulsed within her. A fragile spark mayhap but a spark that grew ever
brighter here, within this magick realm.
Lifting her long skirts, she moved ever faster, the blood
coursing, pounding in her veins as heat began to infuse her entire being.
How she ached for them.
How she longed for them…
A sudden band about her waist drew her to an abrupt halt as
she passed yet another obelisk rising to the brilliant, blue sky.
Her back met the muscular breadth of a powerful chest as her
fingers curled over the iron-hard forearm shackling her close.
A smile curved her lips as a moment later her head tilted
up, resting against a warrior’s chest as his brother stepped slowly from behind
the rising fronds that sheltered the pools from prying eyes.
“Sweet little heart,” said the darker warrior who held her
and lifted her until her feet no longer touched the ground.
“You wear far too many clothes.” The other, her dark
warrior’s brother, his black hair shot with golden hues, caught her to him then
as the other lifted her knees to clasp his brother’s hips.
“The days have been far too long,” the warrior groaned
behind her, quickly unlacing the snug ties securing her dress at her back. “How
we hunger for you.”
She was undressed
way, especially one whose Halfling roots were so far removed from the hierarchy
of true magicks. Humans were forbidden to touch, to taste or to draw the scent
of the spice-laced spores into themselves. To do so was a crime upon both
magick as well as humanity. But there were those, so very few within the human
lands, whose blood craved the magick that swirled about the Causeway. Those who
felt a hunger for it far worse even than a drunkard’s need for his drink.
Humans such as Arabella.
A thousand years past her ancestor, a Spry prince with no
twin still living nor chance to rise above his brothers to the throne, had
slipped to the human lands. His desire for his human lover had consumed him,
causing him to cut all ties to his magick roots.
The legacy of his birth had left his line with the power to
survive within the mists and turn away the creatures of dark magick that
inhabited them. It had also left them in true danger of meeting the fate of so
many others her father Alistair the Perverted had managed to uncover.
Moving quickly along a narrow, almost hidden path, Arabella
found the entrance to the valley she sought. Stepping past the rising obelisks
inscribed with graceful script of a long-ago language, she nearly staggered
from the feel of magick suddenly surrounding her.
Should any place hold true magick then it was here, in this
place. It infused her. She grew giddy within its fold, drawing it into her,
feeling it rise around her, inside her, as though welcoming her once more.
Beauty surrounded her in the form of great rising trees
whose leafy abundance parted in a multitude of steps to catch the rays of the
sun beaming overhead and spill them to the lush grass beneath.
Fabled tweeterlings flew overhead, their wings stretched
wide to catch the warming currents of magick that flowed through the land.
Blooms of all shapes and sizes, all manner of colors and
designs filled bush and brush and through it all a many-layered path of marble
said to enhance all forms of magick spread out between lush greenery and blooms
in all directions.
Winsome, fluttering puffs of seed resembling puffers, the
tiny feathery flowers that as a child she had made wishes upon before they flew
free of their stems, filled the air. The incredibly soft forms never fell to
the ground. As though moored to the breeze itself they danced with capricious
abandon about her as she hurried along the path leading to the heated springs
where her warriors always awaited her.
She knew they awaited.
She always knew when they rested within this place of
magick.
She could feel them calling for her in a way that reminded
her that her magick might be separated by at least a thousand years but still
it pulsed within her. A fragile spark mayhap but a spark that grew ever
brighter here, within this magick realm.
Lifting her long skirts, she moved ever faster, the blood
coursing, pounding in her veins as heat began to infuse her entire being.
How she ached for them.
How she longed for them…
A sudden band about her waist drew her to an abrupt halt as
she passed yet another obelisk rising to the brilliant, blue sky.
Her back met the muscular breadth of a powerful chest as her
fingers curled over the iron-hard forearm shackling her close.
A smile curved her lips as a moment later her head tilted
up, resting against a warrior’s chest as his brother stepped slowly from behind
the rising fronds that sheltered the pools from prying eyes.
“Sweet little heart,” said the darker warrior who held her
and lifted her until her feet no longer touched the ground.
“You wear far too many clothes.” The other, her dark
warrior’s brother, his black hair shot with golden hues, caught her to him then
as the other lifted her knees to clasp his brother’s hips.
“The days have been far too long,” the warrior groaned
behind her, quickly unlacing the snug ties securing her dress at her back. “How
we hunger for you.”
She was undressed
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