Jim Stitzel

I dabble a little in a lot of things — writing, webcomics, gaming, photography, web design, music, and more. I write code full-time and words in the gaps in between.

Malika hesitated just a moment, then nodded. Dawn was beginning to break over the mountains on the horizon, and she knew -- without quite knowing how she knew -- that most of the deathless would either be taking shelter for the day or be banished back to Ashmar. She also knew that the Greater she faced would continue to lurk somewhere, and she wanted nothing more than to be far away from that creature.

"Very well, holy man," she couldn't bring herself to use his title, "lead the way." And together they walked, the holy man leading with Malika following a few paces behind.

Mistress, came Morduth's voice in her mind. Are you alright? It's voice sounded concerned, worried even, and for perhaps the first time, Malika wondered at the magics that could imbue an object with life, with personality. She had no doubt the sword was bonded to her. The holy man seemed not to hear the sword's voice, and so when she responded, she kept her voice low.

"I don't know, Morduth." She glanced at the holy man. "Perhaps."

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