Recent content by Isander

"Taters," Isander said, meeting laughter in kind. "That morning Roki cooked up a fierce skillet of taters, onion, and... some kind of mushroom, should memory serve true. That man makes magic of his craft," he said. A wistful cast misted his eyes in the telling, and he offered another shrug...

"Aye, Roki," Isander said, meeting nod with nod. A shimmer of resolution took hold of his eyes. He pressed on, spear couched at an elbow. After a fashion, he cocked his head back to the Squire and asked, "Say, knowing my inadequacy in Wyld speech, what plan have you for when we come across...

Spear sufficing as a walking stick, Isander's progress came in steady clips. His steps were picked with a measured caution, eyes vigilance in their constant survey of the thickening woodscape. It made for ponderous travel, the scenery mottling before him, wearing thin his focus. Were it not...

"...and succumbed to the evening's libations," Isander said, belting a laugh out from his chest. Wetting his throat, he cocked a brow at his fellow and bandied a brief hesitation before continuing. "Upon reaching the open heath, it dawned on me that I have little in the way with experience...

"I take your bandying of words for what they are, Squire Nacht," Isander said, his head shaking lightly as he tended to his belongings. Palming a pair of dates over a tear of damp bread, he took a moment to chew and sip from the laden skin at his side; this he offered around the circle, sparing...

Isander lifted his mug, drank a sizable portion, and set it back to the table. He brushed the space before him clean, sweeping bowl and spoon to the side and resting his weight atop his elbows. He leaned forward, took a breath, and began his tale: "Then, let me set the stage for you. Late this...

Incredulity shot over Isander's countenance writhing from lips to brow in waves as his gaze pivoted between the squires. Their words chirped in the hollows of his patience, and he had to remind himself to soften the edges about his tone before forming a reply. In doing so, he kept his voice...

A haunting sight graced Isander's return to the makeshift camp. Fresh screams sent him running back from the surrounding marshlands where he had sought to gather herbs to ease the squire's pain—of which he knew only yarrow as specified, and even with such considerations his woodcraft suffered in...

That frown, a fixture over Isander's lips, answered the crystal chime. He squinted, forced to raise a hand to shield his brow from the setting sun; its yolk streaked crimson over the horizon, violescent in its steady descent. Already the long shadow of the Spine crooked across the Wylds...

Isander leveled a slow blink at his companion and spooned another bite of soup into his mouth. He chewed, swallowed, and lifted a cloth to dab at his chin. Keeping his topography carefully bland, he allowed the nearby rattle of conversation to fill the void in his own speech; a breath, two, he...

The Abyssal Spire Blood on the sand. Taste of grit and copper and broken teeth. Murk in the nose. Crinkles of scent that wafted foul across the breathless ether. Sensation coalesced into consciousness. Within that skein, a single eye opened, the sclera poppy-white and pickled with the froth of...

"What?" Isander asked, having to roll the question about his tongue; a tongue absent the kiss of Wyld speech, familiar but to more manling words. He mulled over it, kicking the bed of stones that surrounded their fire over the remaining embers. "No," he said, "such are not talents bequeathed...

The witch, still lost behind a tittering veil, shook with the glamour of mirth. "Nothing, sweetling, nothing at all. In asking for truth," she said, that croon of a voice splintering again, a fractal that could not settle on a singular tone, "have you not forgotten your question?" An...

Isander, who picked a careful path through the browning summer brush, paid little in the way of attention to his companion behind. Boots thoroughly caked with mud and crunching in the gravel packed path that spoke of ancient stone dikes at bay beneath the churn of nature's clock, he exerted his...

In the cackled breath of last light, Isander mulled over the duskling's retort. He exerted effort into flattening a fur tarp over the shelter's floor, brushing it until his knuckles found no hint of rock beneath to disturb their promised repose. The motion, slow and repetitive, sharpened his...