Kayfabe (noun): The portrayal of characters and events as "real". Predominately used in the professional wrestling lexicon.
Creative (informal noun): A creative person. Usually used in a professional context.
A short fiction collection set in the world created over eighteen months at The Mana Bar.
Christoph rounded on the priest. Grabbed him by the throat and pinned him to the wall. "She cared about Luce too," he hissed. "Richard. Kate. Eight siblings! Should I just let that go?"
Paiden grimaced. "No, my prince. I only ask you don't do anything I will be forced to absolve you of later."
Darkness clouded Christoph's vision for a moment, and he saw the moment Paiden regretted his words. "Forced?" Christoph murmured. "You have been my priest for four years, Paiden. My friend for most of that. So you have earned the right for me to let that comment slide. This. One. Time."
Paiden bowed his head. "My apologies, my prince. I only meant to protect your soul from damnation."
Christoph let him go, and snorted. "I am not the one that needs protection." [Read More]
Another rush of dirty water sloshed into his face. The old man muttered something; waved a hand in the direction of those bothering his sleep. His hair was grey and knotted, his pockmarked face was hidden behind a grey and black beard tangled up in the cords and string that held his piecemeal clothing together.
Someone shoved him forward, rolling awkwardly onto his back, grimacing as the sharp angles dug into his back. He glanced up. Council guards. Not what he needed at all right now.
"Get up, ya bastard. You're blocking the road." [Read More]
The carriage was only a few dozen steps away, around one more corner. “Almost there.” The warmth of the carriage gave him heart. “I still don’t understand why you didn’t join us inside. Had I not left through the kitchens I’d never have found you. Surely your mother wouldn’t have been that embarrassed by your state.”
Heavy, staggered breathing was the only response.
“Will you at least tell me what happened? Though by the smell of you, if your answer is anything but a tavern brawl, I may be sceptical.”
“Nothing,” Aramis said through gritted teeth, shifting slightly, pushing away from Fraynar and treading carefully towards the storefront closest to them. “Minor disagreement with a colleague.”
“Col- Ari you don’t have a job.” [Read More]
More short fiction coming soon to the world of Rocksfall.