The Faerion
“A lean gnarled shape towered over him; a full foot taller than Blackthorne, its dusty cloak flapping in the calm air. The hands, long and yellow, clutched continuously, a raptor impatient to strike. The sallow face framed the red eyes. When the mouth opened, the white teeth sparkled, filed to points. Culver felt shocked by the sudden appearance of the shape. He had a prickling on the back of his neck that led him to walk to the gate, but he didn't expect to find anything. He never expected to f...ace a seven-foot wraith. He was sorry they had left Paglo.
"Well? Tell Blackthorne I am here, or do I need to step on you?" The voice was refined, a person of learning, precise with thought. He moved forward, an expanding blackness, but Culver did not move. He hoped the gate had a spell to keep the sorcerer out, but the creature walked in directly. The eyes looked beyond Culver to the courtyard.
"Are you really Berimar the sorcerer?" Culver never considered the danger from Berimar. The sight of the creature at the gate stunned him.MoreLess
"Well? Tell Blackthorne I am here, or do I need to step on you?" The voice was refined, a person of learning, precise with thought. He moved forward, an expanding blackness, but Culver did not move. He hoped the gate had a spell to keep the sorcerer out, but the creature walked in directly. The eyes looked beyond Culver to the courtyard.
"Are you really Berimar the sorcerer?" Culver never considered the danger from Berimar. The sight of the creature at the gate stunned him.MoreLess
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