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CHAPTER EIGHT:
As Missy Hissy girded up her sword and looked out into the Gael Serran, it was black as pitch, and the heavens poured down thundering rain, turning creeks into swollen streams that threatened to break their borders.
Gazing around, she could tell that the gods were not pleased these days, and that, as her father used to say, the mundane was the source of the profane. Some of the rumbling in the heavens sounded like words one might hear on the back docks of Brimloch Roon, where the weary sailors would head to relax after a harrowing voyage at sea, and where they might relax too much, waking in the morning with a throbbing head, a nice view of the docks from the local gaol, and no memory of how either happened.
Pulling her cloak close to her, she muttered a prayer of penitence, swearing fealty to whatever god would clear the perpetual night and let her resume adventuring. Soon, perhaps in several days, she'd be able to return to Shurugeon Castle. For now, in the midst of the torrential downpour, even the slight moat was deep as a lake, and the meager drawbridge was a tiny stick in the briny water, floating in the currents.
And the stars looked down...
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Enjoy.
*B*
Minister, etc. (ret.)
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