To say that there are differences between men and women is about as wit-filled as to remark on how different a dog is from a rose in bloom. And yet it happens so often that both receive the same treatment. A rose is yelled at for not growing fast enough, is denied water due to laziness of its supposed master. And throttled for the crime of pricking when it is strangled.             Women are

Bergsten knocked on his mother’s door. “Mother?” The woman stood at the other side, cautious. Her son had not been there in weeks, more used to what her ex-husband called “strong manners.” Bergsten had in fact left when she pleaded he stick around, and help his poor mother around the house. “Mother?” Bergsten tried again. “I’m home.” His mother opened the door, just enough to peek out. “This is home, now, is it?” She asked.

“We are in so much trouble.” The winds from the outside spun through the great caves. Howled up through the temple of the death goddess of vengeance, swirling around the Acolyte’s clothes. Rafe stood off to a side, looking at the altar. The half-dwarf hadn’t cowered in ages, decades even. But he thought about it now, and his trembling knees were in agreement. “Maybe not.” Greta held up the clay prison of the Scourge of

“Stop it, stop it, stop it!” Bethany grabbed Arlyle and held her close. The goddess gasped, her light out in an instant. The flame was snuffed before it could do any damage to the young girl. Bethany was crying. Crying. Tears ran down her eyes as she looked at Arlyle. “You’re supposed to be my best friend, Arlyle. We’re supposed to have tea parties, and, and go fun places…and have adventures! We aren’t supposed to

“Arlyle, the Scourge of Darrenfell, and my best friend…stop it!” “What?” Arlyle looked at Bethany, questioning. “What’s wrong?” “You know very well what’s wrong, and you should stop it this instant!” “It” was currently chasing Bergsten and his cohorts across the Meadows. A pair of old bears, dark forest green and covered in strange runes, lolling across the ground on their great legs. Bergsten and his crew had laughed at the bears. Even tried to

The great underground lake was a gaping maw, inviting everyone further in. sink into the depths, wash all troubles away. Responsibilities, duties, families…life, all gone beneath the surface. Greta was not tempted. But then again, she was on the other side, away from the traps. She was running the nursery rhyme through her head, trying to discover some sort of clue as to the next trap. “Jump six times, turn around three. What could that