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Chapter 3 - A Group of HeroesA Group of Heroes - Chapter 3
Ok Dirt, -I said- Trick and I are gonna move in while you two try to shut down the console. Sooner answered Ok Cap, just say when. I looked around the roof for everything that can help Trick and I to fight off the Rikti. I spotted a pile of gas tanks then turned to Trick and said Trick, see that pile of tanks over there? Do you have an explosion arrow? Ya Cap, and I know what you mean, sure its ok? I answered Ya, dont worry Trick, Ill sure itll work. Trick drew his arrow, lined it up on his bow, looking down it and focused on his target.
He fired, the arrow went though a Rikti leg first but then continued to its main target.
The explosion killed the Rikti, knocking them off the edge of the roof. Cap, Cap! Whats going on up there?!? Dirt shouted. The Rikti here are coming up the
Chapter 2 - Ceph.Cepheid Chapter 2
Cepheid was just waking up, it was only 11:35am. For him, thats too early for him. Cepheid live in Croatoa, North of Salamanca town, in the forest of The Grim Vale. Cepheid got out of his bed, walked ten steps to his kitchen, made a cup of coffee, and sat at his hand made wooded chair and table, just drinking his coffee and looking at his small cabin.
After his nice, smooth cup of coffee, he went outside with nothing but a towel on him, he walked too the river and bathed himself, seeing little harmless Sally swimming around. He tried to hide myself while a group of Cabel witches passed by. He then with his towel, slapped it on and walked back to his cabin to put on his tights and to get to work. His J.S. radio beeped loudly on his side-table, he picked it up and said rudely Ya? What do you want? his contacted answered Morning Ceph, we have a little mission for you in Faultine, t
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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