|There Is Something In My Closet And It Is Roaring! It was an early evening in Shenkuu. My friends, Jeulienna the Yellow Lenny and Manigolaia the Cloud Ruki and I, Zannidda, a Starry Xweetok, had just enjoyed a mouth-watering dinner together of Pirate Lupe pasta with Cheesy Onion sticks. The discussion on the table was about our favorite games from the Daily Dare|
Also by alienigenosidad
|The Song of the SkeithThe beast stalking the herds of Tyrannia is not all that it seems...|
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"The Song of the Skeith" by fleurdust
For the third night in a row, the terrible howl rippled through the darkness, freezing the blood of the friends around the campfire. The flock of Babaas stirred in their sleep, and a few awoke with startled bleats and jumped up in a flurry of fuzz. Amon the Chomby leapt up to tend to them.
“What do you think it is?” asked Kasha the Kacheek. Her black eyes were wide and wondering. Like the rest there, all except Amon, she was Tyrannian, with a mop of untidy blue fur tangled with leaves and dirt.
“Nothing to worry about,” grunted Gritta, their leader. She was a huge, hulking Grarrl maiden, snout scarred from years of escorting Tyrannian travellers across the dangerous plains, and defending her flocks from stray monoceraptors, roaming Bearog packs and Babaa-rustlers. “Go to sleep.”
“I heard a story about a Werhond, born in Tyrammet and fed on Mutant Spyders until it got so big they had to drive it out into the jungle. It’s still there, seventeen feet long and thirsty for revenge!” Lakki was an Usul, and Amon wasn’t sure he liked him very much. He treated everything like a huge joke, and his eyes were small and mean.
“Rubbish,” said Kasha, shivering and cuddling up to the nearest sleeping Babaa. “You heard Gritta. Go to sleep.”
Lakki eyed Amon as the Chomby tiptoed back towards the campfire, trying hard not to wake any of the Babaas again. He took a bone from his hair and started picking his teeth with it. “What do you think, Cami?”
Amon bristled, but bit back his retort. Lakki had taken to calling him ‘Cami’ because he was coloured Camouflage, and so stuck out like a sore thumb amidst all the Tyrannians there. The Usul never failed to remind Amon that he must be ashamed of his Tyrannian heritage, or was trying to be something he wasn’t, and Amon had learned it was no good trying to argue. Lakki’s tongue was quick and sharp, and his tail was quicker—more than once, Amon had lost his temper and charged, only to find himself flat on his back in two seconds with Lakki’s tail wrapped around his ankle.
|3 Recent Weapons that Jumpstarted my Faith in TNT|
It had been a while since the BD Chat had something to buzz about. The excitement of the New BD had long worn off. The Smuggler’s Cove had remained empty for years. Fyora hadn’t added anything to her tower in a while. After 15 years of barely venturing outside the BD Chat, it was time to for me to see what else this site had to offer. Then along came a volleyball.
|Desert Requiem: Part Eight|
Defying his physician's instructions to remain in bed, Jazan summoned an emergency council as soon as he was alerted to the disappearances. Ambassador Farisem did not attend the meeting, citing indisposition.
|The Spirit of Black Keep: Part One|
The reason he’d gotten himself into this, ArPharazonTheGolden decided, was because he could never say “no” to anything. The Faerie Draik perched on the edge of the bed in his cabin in a Shenkuuvian sky-ship, staring at the letter in his claws, not really seeing the words so much as coming to the realisation that he was hopelessly wishy-washy.