Tales From a Thousand Worlds

A bell jangled at the opening of the door. It sat suspended above the door so that any who opened it would set the bell to ringing. Blade stepped into the shop and was met with a sight most unusual, for the shop was packed tight with all manner of paraphernalia, stacked high on tables and shelves. There were cages and candleholders of polished brass, jars and bottles and vials containing all sorts of liquids and herbs and floating body parts. Tools and small cauldrons were scattered through the shop, as were crystals and stones, bundles of feathers and more. There were parchments and scrolls and tomes bound shut with heavy iron clasps. Perched high on one shelf, a grey rat watched him with beady eyes, its whiskers twitching before it dashed away.

Follow this link for Part Three of The Sign of the Bronze Hammer

The dwellers in the sprawl no less enjoyed the festival as those in the city proper, yet it had a more raucous, wild aspect to it, with the crowds thick on the streets and the noise of their revels loud. Blade kept a tight grip on the hilt of his sword with one hand and his money pouch with the other, even though it held little in it, for pickpockets thronged in the sprawl, and on days such as the Festival they were even more active than normal.

Follow this link for Part Two of The Sign of the Bronze Hammer

A sharp burst of laughter snapped Blade’s thoughts from the half empty glass of wine before him that he had been staring into, staring though not really paying attention to. He looked up from the table in the tavern he had discovered some days earlier, one overlooking the lake upon which the great city of Qaiqala had been built. The tavern was packed with revellers of all kinds, drawn from the furthest reaches of the Swordlands of Kharadas, and even beyond. Drink flowed free and the frivolities spilled out from the tavern, and through the city, for it was the night of the famed Festival of the Eggs and Ducks. None now knew the origin of the festival, nor its purpose, but it marked the start of the harvest season, and that was a thing worth celebrating, even if those who lived in Qaiqala, largest, richest and grandest of cities in the world, had never seen a farm nor worked upon one. It was an excuse for a drink and a riotous time, and that was good enough for them.

Follow this link for Part One of The Sign of the Bronze Hammer