The ri'a shamaness circled the fire slowly; her eyes assessed every one of the assembled crowd. As she stepped she shivered her wing-arms -- her feathers created a susurrus that blended with the chimes of her headdress and the barely audible beat her acolyte played on a drum.

Asha sat cross-legged before the fire in front of his assembled acolytes. The shamaness moved closer -- every step was deliberate and sinuous, while her arms kept up the susurrus and slid through their own arcs. Asha took in every motion of the slow dance as she approached. Her circuit eventually brought her before him and she stopped. The shamaness knelt so they were face to face, and he breathed deep and took in the heady scent of her perfume. She reached out with her delicate long-fingered hands and grasped the sides of Asha's head.

Matthew Zerrelli came stomping into Badger’s on Monday just before noon, he snarled out a demand for beer to the gal working the bar and starting slamming them back as quick as she brought them.

Matthew Zerreli was in a bad mood.

Seems old Matt has gotten laid off from his job that morning, then had gone home to share the news with the wife, which lead to the yelling and shouting, which led to their newborn waking up in a screaming fit, sending the wife into more hysterics.

Which of course led to Mattie boy giving her the back of his hand.

The soldiers fought like mad men, each one swinging his weapons wildly at the enemy who had surrounded them. The link had been closed and the band of soldiers was far from their allies to the West. Though each man knew that survival was but a slim chance, the ranks were maintained as best they could, and the men of Eior' Onaln held fast under mounting pressure. Some were terrified, others were invigorated, the battle degenerating into a fight of self control and willpower. Under such pressure instinct took over, and Maurice was no different, his body reflexive and open to all the sensory information that could help it to survive. He thrust out wards with his heavy halberd and bit deeply into a Possessed's leg, feeling that he had notched the man's thigh, and cracked it through.

I stepped into the library and closed the door behind me with a soft click. I was the first to arrive and I took a moment to savour the sense of peace that seemed to settle on me in the room. The tall shelves stretched right around the room, interrupted only by the three large bay windows to the right of the room. The windows looked out over the university campus but while the views were spectacular it was the room itself that had always drawn by eyes. In the centre of the long room was the Dread Book. One of only three extant copies in the world and the basis for most of my education over the last six years.