Recent content by Gerra

It took many hours, but Gerra had finished refining the ore by sundown and mixing it with the blood. He now had two solid ingots of rose-gold infused by their blood to work with. It was a start. The half-giant made his way back from the forge, arms heavy with his exertion and smeared by the soot...

Gerra nearly caught the pouch. Nearly. He tried with his bad hand, the one missing a finger, and the pouch fumbled to the dirt. A few gemstones spilled out. Sighing away his pride with a huff, the half-giant knelt and began picking them up methodically. His knees ached as he rose again, pouch...

“This is not a simple task,” Gerra mused, scratching his chin and avoiding the accusation in those eyes of hers. He ignored the devil’s remarks about bridling her. He had encountered such petty villainy time and again. The devil enjoyed exerting control over a powerful fae woman. The more she...

“I am just a blacksmith,” rumbled the half-giant. He spared the fae only a look, not of sorrow or even pity - he thought he might have run out of such things - but of resignation. Perhaps better for her to simply kill herself and spare the torment. But the fae were indeed proud creatures, like...

Eyes like twin cinders moved from the demon to his... pet. Gerra regarded her, her chain, and the hiss which didst leave her lips upon her stumble. Not a willing pet, then. Hmm. She was beautiful and fae. But were not all fae beautiful? Gerra clenched his jaw. "She is adequate." There was a...

To name it anything but a hut would be generous. A hut far from civilization, on a cliff by the sea, near to the volcano that dominated the tiny island off the coast of Sheketh proper. Gerra seldom received visitors. And those he did seemed obsessed with either murdering him or forming a cult...

Bright crimson blood gushed from her severed stump, spattering. Gerra closed his around her arm tight as he could, seeking to cut off the spray. Agony still roiled his own gut and he felt as though he might vomit upon the ground from the effects of the toxin. His eyes hazy with pain, he tugged...

“No!” The shout tour from his throat, raw and ragged by his own battle with the toxins. Confusion flowed into grief, cold as the ocean, flowed into anger, hotter than the volcano in which they stood. “No,” this time the word came low and rumbling, full of that old power that made men tremble...

The liquid dribbled between his lips and his throat bobbed, some part of him willing to live still, even after everything. He did not know how long he lay there, body still wracked with pain, before the constriction in his throat loosened and he felt able to breathe again. Eyes like shimmering...

He did not reach for it. No man wished to be tortured to death, even one who believed he deserved it. Instead, confusion in his near sightless eyes, he looked up at the woman. Helpless. At her mercy. And wondered… “Why?” He rasped. Did she not seek to be free, had she not made her choice...

The mind had accepted death, but the flesh was weak. Fingers stretched out for the antidote, desperate, hope fluttering through the pain - a light in the storm clouds of his ending. Then she smashed the vial beneath her heel, extinguishing all hope. His hand fell, flopping against the floor...

A single cut, stinging at first as the blood welled. He looked down, surprise etching his features. A mere cut? Did she mean to slice him up slowly, death by a thousand slashes? He had known her to be callous, cruel even, but that seemed more befitting her father than her. "Would that it were...

"It may," Gerra acknowledged solemnly, again. For once, Gerra turned his intellect not upon how to best use her to his ends - he had no ends, not anymore - but upon her. This woman whose life had imploded the day Annuakati siege towers had encircled her home. "We did use you." Use her as...

The tip of the dagger nestled against the muscles of his chest, needle sharp pushing at the skin. He wondered if it was poisoned. Maybe just a scratch would set his humors aflame and he would die writhing in pain. The him of yesteryear might have seized her wrist, forced her to plunge the...

He only nodded at her words. Yes. He should have died before Drakormir, upon the battlements of Lor Holdram, maybe, or the hundred battles afterward. How many would still be alive? Or. Would the world be a darker place, ruled by dragon tyrants of myth? If he had not sent Drakormir into the...