I stood before Togish and bowed my head slightly. “I did not want to disappoint you, oh great one.”
Hey, I might not be the best role-player in the game, but it didn’t stop me from trying.
Togish nodded. He was clad in burnt armor which had been melted to his blackened skin. According to lore Togish died in this very castle by dragon fire. Dragons sent by Y’Godda.
“I see you have the banner.”
“Yes, great one.”
He held out a blackened hand, with burnt flesh hanging from its fingers.
I presented the banner to Togish and the undead king snatched it from my hands.
Quest Completed: Y’Godda Be Kidding Me
You have returned the Lost Banner of Y’Godda to Togish the Sullied. Please take your quest reward.
Togish grinned at the banner, his melted lips making the expression ghoulish. “Very good, adventurer. It has been a long time coming. With this, I am now one step closer to conquering the Realm of the Dead.”
Uh-huh, I thought. Good luck with that, buddy. Just gimme my dang reward!
I kept my mouth shut and my head bowed.
Togish placed the banner onto a skeletal altar almost identical to the ones from the Battle Field. A bony hand grabbed the wooden handle.
Immediately, the banner’s brightness faded and dulled to nothing. The magical wind that kept its banner flowing stopped as if whatever essence had been inside it died.
“And now for your reward,” Togish said, drawing my attention away from the sad-looking banner.
He held out a burnt hand which gripped a quest scroll.
Bowing my head again in a gesture of thanks, I carefully took the scroll into my possession.
Togish looked down at me. I tried not to stare at the hole in the middle of his face where his nose used to be. “You will find this particular quest… difficult. I know of no one who have survived its trials.”
Neither had I, which made me all the more excited to finally have the chance to take a crack at it.
“I will endeavor to do my best, great one.”
“If you do obtain its reward, see me again. We may have further business to do together.”
I bowed one last time and backed away. Looking up I saw that Togish had turned from me, forgotten. He stared at the limp banner, nodding with satisfaction.
Hastily, I left the destroyed castle and got back on Smoke. Turning him to the path we made our way back to the travel gate.
I was happy beyond words. In my hands I had the quest. Not any old quest, but the quest. Its final reward was the single most sought after item for players of my class.
And I was determined to be the very first to complete it.
As I moved along the path to take my leave of this dead realm, my mind was no longer on banners or Battle Fields or even Amara.
I became consumed with the quest contained in the scrolclass="underline"
The Quest for the Shadow Blade.
BONUS BOOK
The Big Bag of Infinite Cats
An ancient weapon versus a magical bag of cats.
When a strange case of a detective being turned to stone baffles local police, retired investigator Mayra Beeweather is asked to assist. One of her tools of the trade is a magical bag which contains an infinite number of cats. Very special cats – each with a unique ability to aid in her investigation.
Yet, even with their help, Mayra may not solve the case in time, for she may be the next victim turned to stone!
CHAPTER ONE
I sat on my favorite park bench, perusing the newspaper when someone said, “Excuse me, Miss Beeweather, but might you help me, please?”
Bleary-eyed from reading small print, I looked up at the speaker, and squinted against the morning sun. “Beg pardon?” I said.
It was Penny, a frazzled looking red headed woman, who stood before me on the cobblestone path. She looked concerned, hands rubbing together like frightened animals. “I’m afraid it’s my son, Newlin, miss,” Penny said. “He’s got himself stuck up that tree.”
I looked where she pointed.
Sure enough, at the edge of the glade, high up a thick oak, a small red headed boy straddled a branch. He clung to the trunk with both arms for dear life. He looked as frazzled as his mother.
Now, to a casual observer it might strike them as odd to ask for help in this endeavor from someone of my advanced years. Especially when a fair amount of climbing would be involved. But supposed limits of old age has nothing on ability.
“Well,” I said, “He’s good and stuck, now, isn’t he?” I assessed the situation. “It appears he has made it up quite high, indeed.”
“Yes, miss,” Penny said, quick to agree.
“An ambitious little fellow,” I said, and stood. Various creaks and pops betrayed my bones with the effort. I put the newspaper down on the bench and shouldered my satchel with care. “Well, let’s see if help is in the offering, shall we?”
Happy, Penny nodded and we walked over to the base of the great oak. On closer inspection I saw the child, his eyes red with tears, scrapes on his arms and elbows.
“Are you okay, lad?” I called up to him.
“Y-yes ma’am,” the little boy sputtered.
I squinted at him. “Now why would a smart little boy like yourself do something so silly as get stuck up a tree?”
The little boy scrunched his face with concern. This appeared to be more than a random adventure which resulted in his getting stuck.
I frowned a little, more for emphasis than anything close to anger. “You wouldn’t have done this on purpose now? You saw me sitting over there and thought being saved might be fun?”
Penny held up her hands in alarm. “Oh, no Miss Beeweather. My lad wouldn’t do such a thing. He likes exploring, is all. Like Kadmik the Adventurer.”
“I like Kadmik,” Newlin said.
I arched a suspicious brow at the two of them. “When Kadmik went exploring,” I said, “he had an army at his side. Accompanied by your own legion of soldiers helps when you’re stuck up a tree.” I rummaged through my satchel.
“Kadmik tamed beasts and was the friend to giants!” the boy declared.
“Yes, yes,” I said, feeling annoyed to hear distorted myths from a child. “I’m sure that’s the version taught to you. Ah, here we are.” I pulled out a tall knitting bag and set it on the ground.
I sensed the eyes of the woman and child on it, eager to see what happens next.
The knitting bag always got people’s attention. Preceded by its reputation it had become an attraction. I wondered if I should charge a fee each time I brought it out. At least that would help pay for morning newspapers.
The top opening of the knitting bag was closed with a knobbed clasp. Much to my relief the clasp was brass. If it were wooden, there would be no rescue. At least not by me. The bag’s fabric was of a dull gray wool embroidery, with no obvious design, and gave no hints as to its actual contents.
Suffice to mention this bag was not meant for knitting.
As I reached forward, I glanced at Penny and Newlin. Anticipation created wide eyed masks of their faces.
Fine, a copper piece each, I decided, and touched the clasp.
With only a light tap the clasp snapped undone. Unaided, the knitting bag opened wide.
I have to admit. No matter how many times I’ve done this throughout the years, I still get excited at opening it. The hairs on my arms stood up on end.
The bag wiggled as if alive. In moments, the shaking intensified. Something was trying to climb out.