Ziff pushed open the squeaky doors to The Crooner’s Saloon and took a cautious step inside. A goblin hunched over the keys on an old piano, pounding out a medley filled with far too many flat notes. Two she-elves stood on stage, both dolled up in an overabundance of petticoats and ruffles,
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“Our triumph is close at hand, thanks to Dr. Drago!” General Kohl proclaimed triumphantly as he stood in front of the B-17 Flying Fortress, the sunlight reflecting off his bald head. He pointed to a huge, opaque metal cylinder directly beneath the aircraft.
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Roger struggled inside the sack, his head aching from the after-effects of the day’s overindulgence at the Tavern. When he’d agreed to a game of chance with an ogre, this was not what he’d envisioned.
The bag allowed in minimal light, and when he pressed
Maisie swings her feet on the faded green bench as she waits for the school bus to arrive. She tries to focus on the birds singing, instead of on her heart thumping in her chest.
“You’ll rule middle school,” she tells herself as a yawn escapes her. Maisie wipes sweaty palms on her skirt
Kaloa headed for the water, surfboard in hand. The crashing waves roared the truth he refused to hear: he kept trying to prove he was the same rider from fifteen years ago.
He duck-dived through the break and surfaced in a prime spot. One, two, three paddles—he was up.
A roar from a nearby mountain blasted across the village of Torma. Dropping their wares, the inhabitants of the village pulled their cloaks tighter from the booming screech, but a young shepherd walked along as if on a mission, his head held high.
The noise ceased at the same time the sheep tender approached Mayor Lun.
Ebenezer Scrooge was not fond of dragons.
For one thing, they reminded him too much of himself, though he wouldn’t have admitted so for the world—although he might have considered it given a sufficient sum of money. No, Scrooge was not fond of dragons, and he looked down at the boy on the other side of his narrow desk with distinct displeasure.
Harmony often found her name ironic.
Peaceful moments spent strumming her ukelele or holding a fluffy, sleeping animal formed only a fraction of her days. The rest was a hodge-podge of chaotic attempts to keep up with her ever-forgotten to-do list, budget for food and rent, and chase down magical varmints that would rather
“And so the rumors of kelpies remain to this day. Now please, enjoy the concert, and remember, swimming in the loch is strictly forbidden.” The guide smiled as she finished her tour, and the group dispersed. Harmony meandered after the tourists, taking in the heather-covered hills. beside the loch.
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“Enjoy your familiar!” Harmony smiled and waved goodbye to her latest customer. The gap-toothed girl grinned and waved back, towing a harried-looking cockatrice behind her.
They sure start mage school young these days.
Harmony put her hands on her hips and turned to her own familiar, an orange tabby perched on the store counter.
“I thought you said this would be easy.”
The frustrated undertone in Jo’s voice rang out across the entire car. Rebecca’s friend and partner, Jo, swerved to avoid a deer standing in the middle of the road. Rebecca had used the word “easy,” referring to their secret assignment as a “wiffle ball mission.” Now,
A Dwarf could never be the Chosen One.
At least, that’s what I tell myself as I down my third mug of hot fizzleberry juice in the Questers’ Lodge. My feet ache from my last Quest, and the juice slowly warms my insides.
Outside, trumpets toot a familiar tune. The next Quest Call.
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