fighting. foul langue. and fun

Again Xylin looked about the room, expecting at least one of the local drunkards to have spat out his ale at the spectacle, and yet on they drank, oblivious to a working of sagecraft greater than any Xylin had ever witnessed in all his years walking Rubeyah. This was insanity, yet there it was...

Xylin’s escape thereafter involved no more bloodshed, shifting to his insubstantial form to become almost invisible in the shadows and once again pass through those iron-barred gates like tobacco smoke escaping a gap-toothed smile. Now though, some tolls of the bell later, Xylin didn’t find...

Prologue Again he swallowed, and again the stinging ichor these westerners dared call wine made Xylin want to retch. Was he drunk? Surely not. One, two, three bottles wouldn’t do it. A little tipsy? Perhaps. But drunk? Never. Such foolishness was unthinkable, yet ever since reading those...