The profits of being immortal, no matter how much I transport myself... my body is ineffective. Semariv Serpari planted his feet on the muddy road leading to the Shores of Hedreary. His gigantic clothes quivering in the wind, drizzle forming huge spots on them, dampening him as a whole.
He hugged a leather-bound book with glyphs and markings on the cover, thicker than the arm of the man carrying it. He tried desperately to shield it from the soft rain.
He had made a terrible mistake hiding the book so far North, in the cave of ice-serpent, it appears he was no more recognized, although beautiful, the ice-serpents were terribly stupid. In one of his dramatic outbursts, he had said that he would never again seal another being of any kind, evil or good. Look at me now. He laughed at himself, making his way, clear headedly, to try and seal yet another being.
He scrutinized the leaves of trees and bushes on his current location and found them to all be brown and rusty. I must be near. I hope I'm not late, to alter decided fate.
YOU ARE READING
The Wilting Ballad
FantasyIt starts with the killing of an entire luckless village. It starts with a capture. It starts with a murder. What if the villain is chosen by higher power to fulfill a prophecy that will change the lives of all who resides on the continent of Iruil...
