PHarold

1) Parchment in hand, Tymr perched his spectacles on the bridge of his nose. He glanced at the notes already written, made a quick adjustment. Harumphing again he addressed the impatient half elf perched on his dining room table. “Roll up your sleeves,please.” “What are you looking for?” “Additional marks or scars. You have this bloody habit of being secretive about them.” “And you have a stellar bedside manner.” Martin grumbled, “I thought we were going to the tavern for lunch.” “In due time. Look up,” Tymr instructed, “and to the right. Good,now the other sid

Nightwalkers are creatures that have been cursed by a mage centuries ago on this world. They are similar to vampires in that they are nocturnal and are predators. Neither are they particular about whom they hunt. Unlike vampires, nightwalkers are not immortal. They have to consume every day in order to live. The lack of a daily meal means a year off their life. They have fangs but they cannot drink as vampires do. Rather they consume the hearts of the victims.   Killing prey with longer life spans can help immensely, and part of the reason some of the descendants have managed to survive. But due to the fact most nightwalkers are human, contac

Title: "Of Lies and Legacies" But this might have to change as I saw there is a book, not by the same title, but with the same words in a different order. So to avoid confusion, I'll have to make a switch. Genre: Fantasy Synopsis: Martin Skyblade would never forget the night he and his parents fled for their lives. After the torching of their home, they became vagabonds, constantly on the move. Years later, the half-elf found a home in bustling Ravensberg, working in their renowned circus. Life was becoming normal. Or so he thought. When he defends a lone traveler, Martin becomes entangled in a clandestine plot of wizards, grudges and u

Plump, ripe apples tumbled off the crumbling brick wall, rolled down the gentle slope of the hill. The tempting red spheres were chased by a delighted Benno. Returning with a meaty fruit in his jaws, the long dog gripped it between his chubby paws and promptly began to devour it at Tymr's feet. Tymr leaned up against the burgeoning apple tree, singing softly to himself. His basso voice was punctuated occasionally by his thumping fist against the sturdy trunk. As he reached the chorus of his tune, he turned and gripped two thick branches just above where he was leaning, and shook. A loud curse resounded from above. “Bloody hell!”