Thelonius Bricklebook may have been a loquacious and brilliant badger for his species. Eloquent, loyal to a fault, and self-conscientious enough of his personal hygiene to keep it from becoming a nuisance. A perfect badger familiar, in his own opinion. However, he did not fully count on the necessities of working with an eight-year-old girl, or even the cutest little death goddess of vengeance. Case in point, trying to journey back to the Murky Meadows. […]

An old fox woman sat on a crate by the side of an old oak tree. She was knitting herself some socks, and smiling at the two acolytes from behind her silver fur and horn-rimmed spectacles. “Now who might you two be?” Greta pushed herself in front of Rafe. “Greetings. I am Greta von Hammersmit, and that is Rafe Cauley. We’re with the Order of the Flawed Snowflake, an organization that…” “Puts its nose into […]

“Do not be fooled. This creature is not some petty, insignificant thing. She has not been reduced to nothing by the ravages of time. Even now, after all these centuries, we must treat her like she is. She is vengeance. She is death. She is a goddess.” Acolyte Rafe Cauley rolled his eyes. Someone was listening a bit too hard to the Masters’ lectures. “We have been chosen,” Greta Von Hammersmit announced. The gnome woman […]

The two acolytes trudged even further down the trail, now in relative silence. Greta had tried to restart conversations, which were rebuffed by Rafe with ease. “I just want to find out where this damn tomb is, and then we can go back to doing real work.” Rafe cleared through the last of the brambles, and shuffled forward. “So you think this doesn’t matter?” Greta asked. “How often does the Order check on the Tomb?” […]

Arlyle held up the badger, glaring at him. “Who are you? Who sent you? How do you know I exist?” “Ari!” Bethany gasped. “He wants something!” Arlyle snapped. “And seems to know who I am. He even knows my nickname!” “I said it!” Bethany said. The badger gurgled something. Arlyle looked at him, and realized she was squeezing too tight for him to breathe. She loosened her grip, and he repeated. “Thelonius Bricklebook, the fourth. […]

Several hundred miles away, Arlyle, the Scourge of Darrenfell, was chuckling. It was an evil chuckle, or at least as evil as she could manage in recent days. To passerby it might sound just a tiny bit malicious, or only kind of evil. It did not help that she was three feet tall, and was best described as the cutest death goddess of vengeance one could ever see. Still, she chuckled. She was going to […]