Agatha opened the door to the Grubby Shoat. She paused, and, while her eyes adjusted to the gloom, a gust of wind blew a squall of rain through the door. Despite the fog of candle and fire smoke, she saw the elderly barkeeper turn pale. “Be at ease, old man. We seek more virile prey.” […]
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Benjamin Bengfort was a much better scientist than he was a writer. He was the world’s foremost authority on artificial intelligence with an alphabet soup of degrees listed by his name, a corner office, and tenure…
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I stopped counting two hundred and thirty-seven days in. That was the day the magistrate told me that I only had eight more hours of community service to earn my freedom. Magistrate also followed that up with “I’m going to see to it you never get those eight hours, filthy orc”.
The jail cell was getting smaller.[…]
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