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Four FoundersSalazar Slytherin was furious. Salazar Slytherin was miserable. Salazar Slytherin wanted to destroy the entire Hogwarts together with all the students and schoolgirls with such power that it never appeared on the face of the earth. His thoughts followed one path, since this argument with a muggle. And her wonderful ... daughter. Definitely no, and again no! Abusive mutant wizards are invited to stop besmirching and start to "filling the social niches ment for them."
There was a knock on the door. Salazar snorted and looked down at his green socks straight from the store "Aunt Humberta's". She made them by herself for him, theese wonderful, pureblood socks. Pure blood ... grrrrrr ...
"But Lord Slytherin" rang out through the door, when he did not answer. "I think our small quarrel did not prevent my daughter in attendance at your school! I certainly do not want to offend you, and I would like to once again make conversation with you!"
Although the voice was muffled by the clo
Meeting of the MonstersNa pierwszym stołku siedzi Xenomorph. To taki kosmiczny byt bez oczu i uszu, ale za to z dwoma parami szczęk, oczywiście nie mowa tu o szczękach Spilberga, bo to nie rekin, bo rekin ma oczy i jedną parę no i potrafi oddychać pod wodę, a Xenomorph potrafi oddychać wszędzie. Chociaż to nie jest takie pewne, bo nie znalazł się w pobliżu mojego psa po zjedzeniu buritos, może dlatego że nie daję mojemu psu buritos z wyżej wymienionego powodu. No więc ten Xenomorph nie ma krwi tylko kwas, ale nie taki cytrynowy, co się go pije, chociaż nikt jeszcze nie próbował pić krwi Xenomorpha, no bo i po co, niesmaczna i Xenomorph by się nie zgodził, chyba że transfuzja. I ten Xenomorph wyskakuje z klatki piersiowej, tzn. nie z własnej, tylko czyjejś, ponieważ tak się rodzi. To wszystko z grubsza przedstawia się tak, że Xenomorph jest na poc
In the LibraryRaithea, known for being a bookworm, was nothing new in the library and Zakrivea knew where to search him in this late hour. She left the queen fiftheen minutes ago and had to be fast as light to be back soon; she couldn't been seen with Lord Advisor, it would be end of his plan, that he still didn't want to tell her.
She saw him indeed in the Great Library. She hoped that his pupil, this elf Keeral, won't be with him and for her relief, she hasn't saw him near. The young sorceress clenched her fists and stepped closer to Raithea, noticing how petite he is, when he seats on the chair, with brows narrowed and concentrated expression. She felt a kind of kidness in him in that very moment but she pushed these thoughts far away, because Raithea wouldn't be happy if she told him that.
"My Lord..." she leaned to him, apparently being a surprise for him in this part of the castle, because he moved nervously and looked at her with slight anger in his eyes. "Queen doesn't need my services right
Commission: Trials By SeaThe weather was clear and fair. Good conditions for the merchant vessel "The Entrapanour" to set sail for Waterdeep. Jatariel felt a pang of remorse that her mood could not be as generous as the climate. Her usual serene but frosty temperament was being tested with Breena, her human acolyte. This past month had been riddled with storms all along the coast and out in the seas. It was only early summer, not unusual this time of year for storms, but Breena had a dislike for the harsh weather. The girl had to learn big waves and storms were the very heart of Umberlee!
Jatariel glanced at the fair haired Breena with a tiny frown she could not smother. The girl was helping the sailors repair the hull of the vessel while engaging in their raunchy singing about a mermaid. The child had a lovely voice, but it was better spent practicing prayers and chanting spells. The sun elf priestess squared her shoulders and smoothly collected the child,
Thoughts in the EveningRaithea looked at his reflexion in the mirror. Black hair, flowing on his forehead and shoulders. The small posture of ten years old child with beautiful, almost unreal face. He knew this face can trick everyone...well...almost everyone.
Now, when he showed his cards to the queen, he had to play with them. He didn't want to expose so quickly, he wanted to stay in shadow and still pull the strings. But she got to know about his plans for her son and made a scene. That talk was extremely pleasant but also very dangerous for him. Despite his words about Zakrivea, he really was afraid that Rabra can harm her. Not that she was defenseless, no. He just wanted to keep her safe. Rabra was a mother and - as every mother - would do everything to save her child.
As for the child...If he told the king that he isn't his, he probably would do nothing. He was weak and it was easy for Raithea to manipulate him. But he loved Dhuren and won't sacrifice this love for just a words, even if they came from
The ProphecyDark-haired man stood before the fountain and hissed from overhelming cold; it would be strange that water didn't freeze if man didn't know that it's magical water, made by Uhur-Khan in the beginnings of their world. In this fountain the man could see everything that was happening in Karmala and beyond.
"Speak, old woman." his voice was threatening but the man remained calm and in his demeanor was something reminding calm before the storm.
"The elves will raise their heads again...this time forever." the old, dusted voice of a woman who has seen too many winters. Her face was wreckled and scarred but her eyes lit lively in the old face.
The dark-haired man said simple spell and in the fountain appeared castle of king Munor. He waved his hand and he saw small figure, walking down the stairs in the Tower of Dragon Fang. He was focused and the man saw sorrow in him.
"This one will lead them?" he asked with disbielieve. The figure belonged to small elven child, no more than twelve. He coul
if you need help making it through the dayremember:
The Coffee GodThe Coffee God behind the counter shuffles foot to foot, a dance of steam and espresso. Black painted fingernails, inch gauged ears and a gray striped sweatshirt, hood crooked on his back. There's a cigarette tucked behind one ear; it bobs and twitches with each step.
“Non-fat caramel latte,” he calls, just as he always does, part of a spell, part of a mantra, toneless (just a tuck at the end). I reach. He looks up.
The espresso maker hisses.
There's something like a grin, something like a spark, something like a shared secret linked eye to eye. When he passes over the drink (rough cardboard sleeve hot to the touch), he lingers. Our fingers brush, a shiver, a jolt, a ten-watt shock.
The Coffee God tilts his chin, shouts, “Hey, mind if I take my break now?”
and ducks around the counter without waiting for a reply.
He slips his cigarette between his lips without taking his eyes from mine. I follow him out the door.
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