Janus unscrewed the top of her skull and left her brain on the desk, knowing that she could survive several days without it, but never sure what her body was up to during the interim.
Deep within Nightfall's fungal woods, a smattering of ash stirs, lifts, and--as if drawn by the force of an ungodly magnet--begins to congeal into what some might call a man.
The woman sat on the edge of the roof against the cracking, blood-red sky, beer in hand as she jauntily sang to herself, "Tumblin' down, tumblin' down, tumblin' do-owwwn."
[FONT="]Men sneered and spat as they passed Faldran, though not directly at him, for as much as they loathed his profession they were wise enough to fear the wrath of a magus.[/FONT]
It was rumored a great fortune was buried with Queen Anasthu, for any king in great need to plunder, but it was a trap by a weary immortal for the blood of greedy, powerful men.
There is a terrible sense of adventurous invincibility among sailors in their first year of their voyages, particularly the youngest, and talking to half of them, you'd think them members of some intrepid crew salvaging artifacts from Cenozoic Paris.
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