Chapter 6: "Jomo Tells a Story"
The twelve companions stared, with varying feelings, at the expanse below. After much walking, what felt like the last several miles (Russell voiced his opinion that the trip actually felt like a year) was solely upwards, they reached the top of a high hill. They now saw that the hill was part of a naturally occurring bowl stretching away for miles on either side. Before them was a grassy slope, and at the bottom of that was a short walk, and then the canopy of a vast forest. A river coursed through it, going in on the left and out on the right. Past the forest, they could see the spires of their destination. The capital of the Kingdom of Modem was in sight!
"Isn't it just something?" Gomamon chimed in. As she was accustomed, the seal Digimon was being carried by Thora, who was practically sparkling with thoughts of royalty, treasures, fashion and romance.
"I'd say, 'something,' is one word for it," replied Russell, taking off his eye-shield sungl
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Chapter 2: "The Hellfire Club"
The Seigneur was evidently a fast healer. By the next morning he was ready to talk over the terms of release for the French royal concert party – a triune of would-be heels called Pierre, Jacques and Albert – and their immediate deportation back to their home country to face judgement by their own adolescent autocrat. Not in the mood for a major international incident when it could be avoided, Elizabeth had agreed, but made it clear that none of the three men would ever be welcome within England's borders again. As they were hurried into their carriage in the courtyard, Florentin made a disgusted remark about their behaviour, to which Pierre responded by declaring he would gladly expose himself to the, "spitable Anglais," in the name of, "la France glorieuse."
"And you wonder why zhey make zhe japes at our expense," the man in red harrumphed, giving Pierre a well-placed boot to his offensive posterior and slamming the door s
The Seigneur was evidently a fast healer. By the next morning he was ready to talk over the terms of release for the French royal concert party – a triune of would-be heels called Pierre, Jacques and Albert – and their immediate deportation back to their home country to face judgement by their own adolescent autocrat. Not in the mood for a major international incident when it could be avoided, Elizabeth had agreed, but made it clear that none of the three men would ever be welcome within England's borders again. As they were hurried into their carriage in the courtyard, Florentin made a disgusted remark about their behaviour, to which Pierre responded by declaring he would gladly expose himself to the, "spitable Anglais," in the name of, "la France glorieuse."
"And you wonder why zhey make zhe japes at our expense," the man in red harrumphed, giving Pierre a well-placed boot to his offensive posterior and slamming the door s
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THE FORTUNATE ISLES
A Queen of Games adventure by
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Chapter 1: "French Follies"
The Caliban was dead; a corpse built of wood the colour of decomposed flesh and beset with sails like freshly spilt cruor from its blackened twin masts. The brigantine bore no flag to show its allegiance, and its wretched body seemed held together only by sheer force of will. The staled wind of the Western Ocean pushed it on its course, the screeching breezes and rattling boards joined with silent screams to form an orchestra of dread. It was crewed by the poor, enslaved souls who lost their freedom to its satanic mistress, doomed to rot in servitude for an eternity as punishment for their own oblivious gambles. In short, by the damned. The captain's black lips parted in words audible only to the disembodied as down below, the overseer drummed a mute rhythm for his galley-slaves to row by. To the only four people onboard who remained alive, this was a place
A Queen of Games adventure by
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Chapter 1: "French Follies"
The Caliban was dead; a corpse built of wood the colour of decomposed flesh and beset with sails like freshly spilt cruor from its blackened twin masts. The brigantine bore no flag to show its allegiance, and its wretched body seemed held together only by sheer force of will. The staled wind of the Western Ocean pushed it on its course, the screeching breezes and rattling boards joined with silent screams to form an orchestra of dread. It was crewed by the poor, enslaved souls who lost their freedom to its satanic mistress, doomed to rot in servitude for an eternity as punishment for their own oblivious gambles. In short, by the damned. The captain's black lips parted in words audible only to the disembodied as down below, the overseer drummed a mute rhythm for his galley-slaves to row by. To the only four people onboard who remained alive, this was a place
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BLOODAXE
A Queen of Games adventure by
Scott D. Harris & Hikari
Chapter 1: "Caught in the Mist of Malice"
It was the summer of our Lord, 1560. In Southampton, a mighty galleon bobbed lazily at the docks, the sunlight glistening off her brilliant black side, trimmed with glorious ivory white and emerald green. Her name, engraved along either side of her bow, was The Relinquished. The galleon's captain, Sir Maxwell Wyvern, stood watching the sky with an air of concern, brows furrowed atop his azure eyes. He had just returned from his latest voyage to the Far East, a region of great import and fascination to him, and had been looking forward to some time with his familiars before planning his next adventure, but all he felt as he observed the heavens was a sort of nervous tugging in the depths of his mind.
"You see somethin', sir?" asked his First Mate, a dark-skinned man called Hardwick who was a veritable wall of muscle.
"Sort of," replied the renowned travel
A Queen of Games adventure by
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It was the summer of our Lord, 1560. In Southampton, a mighty galleon bobbed lazily at the docks, the sunlight glistening off her brilliant black side, trimmed with glorious ivory white and emerald green. Her name, engraved along either side of her bow, was The Relinquished. The galleon's captain, Sir Maxwell Wyvern, stood watching the sky with an air of concern, brows furrowed atop his azure eyes. He had just returned from his latest voyage to the Far East, a region of great import and fascination to him, and had been looking forward to some time with his familiars before planning his next adventure, but all he felt as he observed the heavens was a sort of nervous tugging in the depths of his mind.
"You see somethin', sir?" asked his First Mate, a dark-skinned man called Hardwick who was a veritable wall of muscle.
"Sort of," replied the renowned travel
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