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Portfolio Entries from Reaver

  1. The Elfin Baker

    "You wanted to see me Ernest?" "Ah, David. Come on in and have a seat." Ernest's office was quite large and beautifully furnished. He sat in a plush-looking leather chair behind a large cherry wood desk. I sat down in a very comfortable chair directly in front of him. I quickly removed my hat and wrung it nervously.* Ernest smiled warmly at me but his eyes betrayed his true feelings. "I hear that you had a bit of a disagreement with Michael." A feeling of dread washed over me...
  2. Flight

    Desh woke with a start. His mate Nala was shaking him frantically. "They're attacking!' Desh shook his head a few times, trying to clear the cobwebs of slumber from his mind so that he could focus. The dull roar of his tribe's voices mixed with clanging armor and weapons filled their room. He stood slowly and pulled Nala into him. "We knew this day would come." The young couple held their embrace for a few moments and then walked over to where their younglings slept. Desh was amazed...
  3. When Reaver entered the mine...

    When Reaver entered the mine, he was immediately engulfed in darkness. Very odd, he thought. The strings of crystal lanterns used by the miners to illuminate the shafts were as dead as… Reaver’s ruminations were suddenly interrupted by the sound of women laughing. He retrieved a small orb-shaped lantern from the bag of holding attached to the belt he wore and shook it roughly. This awoke the four dragonfly-sized faeries trapped inside, causing them to glow an intense bluish-white light...
  4. Reaver

    Reaver My name is Reaver and they say that I’m quite mad. Who are they? Why, the moral majority, of course. You might refer to them as civilized society. I call them the walking dead because they wander aimlessly through life without really being alive. My friends tell me that I’m quite sane. What’s that? You can’t see them? Well of course not. They’re wraiths, ghosts, spirits, and phantoms…whatever you might wish to call them, only I can see them. They’re the reason that I am...
  5. Respite

    The gunfighter rode into the small, dirt-encrusted town just as the fourth sun had dropped below the horizon and three shimmering, amethyst-colored moons began their slow, ethereal dance into a stark night sky. A small, bullet-riddled sign with crudely painted glyphs that read: RESPIT POP. 100 42 suddenly stopped its idle swaying almost as if it sensed the tall, shadowy rider’s approach. The gunfighter’s warhorse strode purposefully down the town’s only thoroughfare, its massive head...
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