Death's Reckoning Read Online Free PDF
Author: Will Molinar
at noontime. His breath came fast and heavy; his chest constricted by an irrational fear. Everything the night had to offer lay within his senses.
A nest of crickets chirped to his right in a pocket of loose stones by the side of the tavern. They answered call to his left by three others, perhaps cut off from the main family. A crow perched on the roof of a building, not making a sound or moving, yet Giorgio could see every single feather on its frame.
Giorgio glanced from side to side, overwhelmed yet alive for the first time in days. Since the incident at the docks, since Sea Haven had been conquered by the invading armada of Janisberg, he had wandered in a daze. Something shifted within him that night, having lain dormant, and now it bubbled out and gripped him with the hand of death.
The salt water air felt acidic, burning down his throat unimpeded. People laughed and shuffled behind closed doors, loud and incessant to his spectral ears. Giorgio raised his hands, feeling the raw eldritch power in the limbs. He flipped them over and peered at the almost translucent skin. His bones shone through a pink veil of flesh.
Vibrant energy poured through him. The night was his to explore.
* * * * *
Madam Dreary closed the hatch on her window and shivered. A strange chill had carried along with the wind blasted through her second storey room. She put her arms around her shoulders and hugged, feeling the pert nipples of her bosom stand out and poke through her nightgown. It gave her a thrill of both narcissism and physical pleasure.
She chuckled. “Oh, you still have it, girl. No doubt about that.”
Closing her beautiful curtains of thick red silk, she stepped away and relit the candle holders on her table. Her room was well appointed. Red silk was one of her favorite substances in the world, and she made sure there was plenty around. It covered every piece of furniture, every pillow, and used in every tapestry that draped all four walls.
A beaded curtain hung over the section of room where her bed resided. It twinkled in the candlelight. The curtain reached the plush white carpet, such a lovely combination with the red silk she always thought. Everyone who walked on it with bare feet never failed to mention the incredible softness and warmth. Their comfort pleased her as this was her vocation.
Madam Dreary kept a very select clientele of her own. Only the wealthiest men in town could afford her services as a high end prostitute, and the visits were by her will alone.
She pushed up the side of her strawberry blond hair, and it bounced back firm and tight. “Lovely, my dear, just lovely,” she said and smiled. A red ruby lay in the middle of her chest right above her bust line. It glinted the candlelight in a satisfactory way. It was of the highest quality, a gift from a client of course. Most of their wealth at the brothel was from appreciative men and women when their desires had been fulfilled.
The Madam of Sea Haven’s lone whorehouse opened the top portion of her dresser and pulled out a cloth, dampening it in a water basin. She cleaned her face, taking off the make-up she wore during the day, noticing the barest glimmer of crow’s feet at the corner of her eyes. They were only preset when she made certain expressions, so she avoided doing them. “Plenty more juice left, dearie. Plenty more.”
It was her pain to lose her youth, to lose that power she had over men. Madam Dreary consoled herself with the fact it was no longer up to her. Her girls were the main players in her game. Their youth could be used.
It would dry up in time as well.
The bed was a lush appointment with thick, deep cushions and red silk sheets. It was given to her by the Duke of Trombay, a far southern kingdom. She lay back, naked, reveling silk on her skin. She grabbed a large book off her end table. The tome entitled, “The Second War of Thurbian Arms,” and she was almost finished.
Reading about war not only intrigued her
A nest of crickets chirped to his right in a pocket of loose stones by the side of the tavern. They answered call to his left by three others, perhaps cut off from the main family. A crow perched on the roof of a building, not making a sound or moving, yet Giorgio could see every single feather on its frame.
Giorgio glanced from side to side, overwhelmed yet alive for the first time in days. Since the incident at the docks, since Sea Haven had been conquered by the invading armada of Janisberg, he had wandered in a daze. Something shifted within him that night, having lain dormant, and now it bubbled out and gripped him with the hand of death.
The salt water air felt acidic, burning down his throat unimpeded. People laughed and shuffled behind closed doors, loud and incessant to his spectral ears. Giorgio raised his hands, feeling the raw eldritch power in the limbs. He flipped them over and peered at the almost translucent skin. His bones shone through a pink veil of flesh.
Vibrant energy poured through him. The night was his to explore.
* * * * *
Madam Dreary closed the hatch on her window and shivered. A strange chill had carried along with the wind blasted through her second storey room. She put her arms around her shoulders and hugged, feeling the pert nipples of her bosom stand out and poke through her nightgown. It gave her a thrill of both narcissism and physical pleasure.
She chuckled. “Oh, you still have it, girl. No doubt about that.”
Closing her beautiful curtains of thick red silk, she stepped away and relit the candle holders on her table. Her room was well appointed. Red silk was one of her favorite substances in the world, and she made sure there was plenty around. It covered every piece of furniture, every pillow, and used in every tapestry that draped all four walls.
A beaded curtain hung over the section of room where her bed resided. It twinkled in the candlelight. The curtain reached the plush white carpet, such a lovely combination with the red silk she always thought. Everyone who walked on it with bare feet never failed to mention the incredible softness and warmth. Their comfort pleased her as this was her vocation.
Madam Dreary kept a very select clientele of her own. Only the wealthiest men in town could afford her services as a high end prostitute, and the visits were by her will alone.
She pushed up the side of her strawberry blond hair, and it bounced back firm and tight. “Lovely, my dear, just lovely,” she said and smiled. A red ruby lay in the middle of her chest right above her bust line. It glinted the candlelight in a satisfactory way. It was of the highest quality, a gift from a client of course. Most of their wealth at the brothel was from appreciative men and women when their desires had been fulfilled.
The Madam of Sea Haven’s lone whorehouse opened the top portion of her dresser and pulled out a cloth, dampening it in a water basin. She cleaned her face, taking off the make-up she wore during the day, noticing the barest glimmer of crow’s feet at the corner of her eyes. They were only preset when she made certain expressions, so she avoided doing them. “Plenty more juice left, dearie. Plenty more.”
It was her pain to lose her youth, to lose that power she had over men. Madam Dreary consoled herself with the fact it was no longer up to her. Her girls were the main players in her game. Their youth could be used.
It would dry up in time as well.
The bed was a lush appointment with thick, deep cushions and red silk sheets. It was given to her by the Duke of Trombay, a far southern kingdom. She lay back, naked, reveling silk on her skin. She grabbed a large book off her end table. The tome entitled, “The Second War of Thurbian Arms,” and she was almost finished.
Reading about war not only intrigued her