Tales Of Grimea Read Online Free PDF

blossom red and hot. Still she
refocused the former strength of her happiness, shaping it into
pure will. Her arm moved, picked up a stone from the ground when
she next limped close enough. She took a deep breath, seeing how
close Marcus was now. Part of her, unbelievably, was happy to see
everlasting love in the despair of his expression. She swung,
striking her right leg. A snap was heard, and she lurched but kept
moving. The incantation took on a lighthearted tone, as if mocking
her efforts. “Ah, a feisty one. And going in the wrong direction,
no less! Oh, oh, I see! Well, now then… I took your feelings out of
mercy, hurmph! Let’s see what happens when I give them back, shall
we?” Instantly, a gnashing within her bones almost caused Claudis
to black out.
    “What drivel do you speak, old one?” demanded
the priestess.
    He cackled. “None of your concern, child of
light!” With that, the battle continued.
    The two fought. Their songs clashed, flames
of dark and glowing blue blades facing off amidst behind the woman.
From the bangs and lights, Claudis was sure that the priestess was
surrounded but advancing, wreaking havoc on the sorcerer’s undead
army. She was sure that the havoc within her was worse still. Her
brain felt like sea froth. Crushed lungs struggled to gather
something unneeded whilst her bones grinded against one another.
Even the falling skin and tunneling of insects could be felt. More
than once, Claudis knew unbearable pain. At the same time, she did
not give in. She knew that her husband could not move faster than
her, and to give in was to doom him. The rock was still in her
hand, and she swung again, fully shattering her right leg with an
inhuman cry. She fell to her knees, and the undead within her began
to crawl. She kept swinging again and again. The physical torture
was nothing compared to what would happen in her undead heart if
she killed Markus.
    When the battle ended, the priestess in her
white and blue garb was victorious. With an unholy cry the magician
fell, along with most of his army. She lifted her black candle and
mace, one in each hand, allowing a final songspell to leave her
lips. Just then, the sun was peeking over the horizon, attempting
to dispel the night’s terror. It revealed a mangled undead minion,
barely more than a torso, kneeling just a foot away from a man
shocked beyond belief. “Oh, my darling,” he murmured in a torn
manner, trying to keep himself strong. She’d hated it when he
cried. “I wish you’d let me join you.”
    Claudis was in the throes of a sweet void
then, offset by a single pinpoint glow. She could see nothing else.
The light beckoned, and she was almost ready to go. She heard
footsteps behind them, but the priestess remained silent. “I…”
Claudis started in a gurgle, then struggled on. “I… you s… solemn…
moon… ring….let…ppy…” She hoped that he got her meaning, for there
was no strength left in her broken form. As she let go, content
that her love had survived, the priestess offered a long slow
prayer.

Whispers of insanity:
    Year:822 Post Kerallus. 230 Pre Adventus
    The following is an excerpt from the diary
of Mardow Grame, a prisoner and one time apprentice of Krulov
Gregerovitch, who would one day lay waste to cities numerous and
wreak havoc over the eastern continent of Jerr. Eventually he would
be stopped far west, at the gates of Lor, but not before he even
managed to force Haq Ramad, the shadow spear, to slit her own
throat.
    Today, I heard a tale that caused my stomach
to churn. Abused from the tender age of three and turning to crime
earlier than I could walk, I had thought this tired heart incapable
of sympathy, but the master’s story was unusual in its simplicity.
My very heart cringes at the memory, and I pray never to become
like him, for it was not the circumstances of his tale that spoke
of woe, but rather the very destruction and depravity evident
within mind and soul. I know now that the man, if