The Gambler’s Woe
Anthony Reynolds
Anthony Reynolds
After enduring a tough journey across the open ocean, Xin Zhao found himself in a strange new land. There was no delicate beauty in the waters here, no magic in the trees. Imposing gateways and fortified stone walls unlike anything he had ever seen lined the streets, and the people were crammed into every available inch of space.
I drag my talons through the wound, drawing blood from blood. My veins blacken, my body seethes as muscle and sinew weave back together.
“We are masters of nothing.
Ian St. Martin
Seated upon her back, the masked figure of Marit laughed in equal eagerness, the blade of her glaive singing as it cut the air.
With another piercing shriek the creature whirled around to face Marit in a disjointed, boneless spin.
Graham McNeill
The story Vladimir was telling was strange and fantastical, like the Shuriman myths Konrad told when they shared scare stories on the roof of the studio at night.
Anthony Reynolds
He knew the words she would speak next before she even opened her mouth. It was the same every time.
Matt Dunn
“Oh yes, little ones—we may speak later of the bearskinned storm-bearer, but the less said about him the better.”
Graham McNeill
Ian St Martin
“No more of that,” he snapped, shoving Kross back. “We’ll have no talk of curses here. Get yourself together.”
“We have to turn back,” the crazed trapper begged, eyes wild as he repeated the plea again and again.
“Tell your boss Talon’s here, and I want to talk. The Harbingers are gathering.”
The ticket taker blanched and scurried off, leaving him alone in the stagnant air of the train as it idled on the track, an impatient machine.
Ariel Lawrence
I’ll learn them soon enough—once I’m done talking.
“And what makes you think this is your land?” asks the human in the red hat, smirking.
Jared Rosen
The fisherman’s spear sings across a vast emptiness. Light and sound fail as he casts his line, its heft sinking down into the bottomless chasm above which he stands.
Imprisoned in Tuula, Jhin kept his secrets, revealing little of himself as many years went by. The monks guarding him noted he was a bright student who excelled in many subjects, including smithing, poetry, and dance.
The sword-wife’s eyes widened and she dropped to her knees. She tried to speak, but only blood bubbled from her lips.
The ghostly apparition watched her die, her expression impassive.
He squeezed her hand, his mouth falling open in wonder as Demacia’s light shone within him.
“It’s so beautiful...” he whispered.
Ian St. Martin
“Long,” Arrel glanced back at Tifalenji. “Does it always talk this much?”
Erath started. “Have I displeased you, mistress?”