My Work Station at Dragon Con + Half a Short Story!

Hey peeps!

It's that time of year again. I'm at DragonCon! Just arrived in Atlanta. If you're here (or in the nearby area) I can't wait to meet you! Either at the panels, or during the secret party. <3

I wanted to finish the Eventide short story (to have two this month) but DragonCon prep went out of control. Here's the first half of the story! I'll be working at DragonCon (I have a lot to do, lol) so there will be updates over the weekend! (And probably pictures? I'm not really someone who takes a ton of pictures of MYSELF).

ANYWAY, here is the short story! And thank you all so much for the support. I super appreciate it. My life is made infinitely better knowing I have the well wishes of a great community.

Shami

THE TYPHON BEAST LAIR

Eventide Short Story

Who would bond with the typhon beast?

Back when the world was new, and magic wild, the first god-arcanists were tasked with an epic quest. They needed to find a runestone, bring it to the god-creature’s lair, and then face a gauntlet of challenges. The Trial of Worth spanned the globe and required an experienced adventurer.

Gone were the times of confusion and myth. For better or worse, all the runestones were gathered, and the creatures were being located at a shockingly fast rate.

One after another, the god-creatures were finding their arcanists. This was an important decision, but we didn’t have time to give it too much thought. We couldn’t wait for an experienced adventurer to show themselves. We needed to brave the typhon beast’s lair nowand decide the arcanist later.

I stood just outside of Regal Heights, my breathing shallow. The canyon city was remarkably different than I how I remembered it. Progress had left its mark on the bridges, buildings, and arcanists here. They had multi-story fortresses made of stone, and bridges constructed of metal.

When I had visited this place decades ago, the stench of conflict still lingered on the air. The desert raiders, and the hydra arcanists who had turned traitor, had left scars on the city. I thought they would never heal.

But here we were—safe and welcomed. No scoundrels. No animosity.

Time changed everything.

“Liet?”

The voice traveled on the hot winds, washing past me with the breeze. Some silvery gray hairs fluttered into my face. I brushed them aside as I turned around.

Two men strode toward me, both strong and confidant. Both grizzled.

Brom d’Tenni. The founder of Regal Heights. He was a desert lion. His gray hair, curly and untamed, framed his scarred face like a mane. His darkly tanned skin reminded me of goldstone—polished, powerful, sturdy.

Even though he had lost an eye centuries ago, it didn’t take away from Brom’s capability. It did take away a bit of his throwing accuracy, but I kept that comment to myself. I’d save it for a moment to tease him.

His arcanist mark, a seven-pointed star, also incorporated the form a ten-headed hydra.

Brom’s eldrin wasn’t here, though. Hydras as old as Brom’s were much too large to go out adventuring. Instead, Brom’s eldrin remained in the breeding caves. Most hydras born in regal Heights were descended from his eldrin’s loins, including Hexa’s.

Brom nodded to me. “Liet. Are you prepared?”

“Always,” I said with a smile.

Brom didn’t wear an eyepatch. The messy scarred eye socket would’ve disturbed most, but I had seen worse. Brom’s confidence could be deduced from all his decisions.

The other man…

I glanced over.

Vinder Akiona. The minister of Regal Heights. He reminded me of a monk. His bald head shone in the light. His beard, gray and thick, went all the way to the top of his stomach. Vinder stroked the long mess of hair, a small smile almost concealed, but not quite.

Unlike Brom, Vinder’s arcanist mark—a seven-pointed star with a gargoyle—glowed with inner power.

The same as mine.

Vinder was one of the few people who had unlocked their eldrin’s true form. It was often a difficult process, and most arcanists never achieved something so brilliant. Every mystical creature had its own requirements to unlock their true form, and the gargoyle’s was a mystery to me.

Vinder never told me the story.

And his gargoyle didn’t usually head out of the city during the day. It was an impressive beast, but gargoyles were nocturnal. They preferred the darkness and loathed the light. Hudson, Vinder’s gargoyle, wasn’t really needed—not today. The three of us would be more than enough.

“Liet,” Vinder said with a smirk. “Are you sure you don’t want to wait while Brom and I handle this?”

“Why would I do that?”

“Your eldrin is so far from here.” Vinder pointed to the distant horizon. “Gentel must be lonely. Can you even use your magic?”

I huffed a laugh. “You know I can. Gentel and I trained for a long time. We’ve been together for centuries.”

Vinder tugged his beard as he lifted an eyebrow. “But your powers must be weaker, yes?”

“Only slightly.”

Brom and Vinder exchanged glances. The two of them had been together almost as long as Gentel and me. They had their own special nonverbal language, and they discussed my weakness for a short moment before returning their attentions to me.

“Well, if you think you can handle it, we should be goin’,” Brom said. He walked to my side, patted my shoulder, and offered a toothy grin. “This’ll be like the old days, won’t it, Liet? Adventurin’.”

“You’ve always been the sentimental type,” I said as we headed to Hydra’s Gorge.

The two men laughed.

The gigantic canyon that split Regal Heights in two was impressive. Normally, it would be a difficult ordeal to descend into the fog-filled depths of the gorge. Fortunately, Volke Savan had thought of a solution to our problem. He had designed and built a staircase down to the bottom of the gorge, one carved into the very rock wall.

Vinder, Brom, and I found the new stairway and started with the first step. It was a pathway made for giants, not normal men. Several smaller staircases were built into the side of each step, allowing for a normal person to make their way down all one hundred and twelve giants steps with ease.

“I never thought we needed a walkway,” Brom said as he dragged his calloused hands along the stone. He snorted and frowned. “The canyon is filled with death.”

“Those are just rumors,” I said.

Vinder patted his gut. “The fog at the bottom of the gorge is due to the ghostwood. And everyone knows ghostwood only grows on cursed land.”

Brom placed a hand on Vinder’s shoulder. He gently squeezed as he said, “That’s right. Vinder understands. This canyon is a graveyard. A wasteland of corpses.”

Such poetic language, and for what? I had seen landscapes painted crimson with blood. Ghostwood never sprouted among the gore there. But I wasn’t a botanist. I would never claim to understand how such accursed forests grew.

It didn’t take long for us to reach the bottom of the gorge.

The fog from the ghostwood forest greeted us with open arms. I inhaled deeply, disgusted by the stench of rot and decay. Volke had mentioned that the lair of the typhon beast was beyond a cloud of deadly gases. I believed him. Gases often escaped the world’s crust, and they hung low to the ground, often stuck in ditches and caves.

I held my coat tight. It hung beyond my knees and was a patchwork of colors and textures.

It wasn’t a normal garment. It was woven from the hide of mystical creatures—more than a dozen. Most were unaware, but my coat was an artifact of protection. It protected me from many dangers, including deadly vapers.

Brom and Vinder had assured me they had their own defenses, so I didn’t worry for their safety. As a group of three, we strode forward. The echo of our boots carried down the canyon. The fog made everything dark, but not impossible to see.

My arcanist mark—along with Vinder—glittered in the dim lighting. Brom glanced between us a few times, his eyes darting to our glowing marks with blatant envy.

We traveled for a while before reaching the typhon beast’s cave. Before we entered, Brom withdrew a bag from his pocket, and then dumped out a glowstone. The rock gave off a permanent glow, illuminating the area.

Then we entered the cave.

The smell of decay was the worst here.

Volke had mostly taken the corpse of the typhon beast out of this area. Some of it was unable to be moved, and its smell lingered. I held my nose all the way to the gigantic circular door etched with runes. I pulled the jasper runestone out of my pocket and held it close to the door. The runes sparkled and the door slid open on its own, the circular entrance rolling to the side.

Both Brom and Vinder gawked at the sight.

I glanced over my shoulder and motioned to the lair with a tilt of my head. “You two haven’t gotten two old for a real adventure, have you?”

Brom crossed his massive arm. “Ha! I’m strong as strong as I was when we first met. Perhaps even stronger. No—definitelystronger.” He stormed forward, heading into the typhon beast’s lair.

Vinder stroked his long beard. He slid his gaze over to mine. “Brom is still young and strong… at heart.”

I chuckled. “And you?”

“I’m more experienced.”

“Oh? Is that what they call it nowadays? Experience?”

Vinder glanced down, his body a littler larger than when I had known him. His arms were solid with muscle, teeming with strength, but his gut clearly hadn’t kept up. I suspected Vinder kept his beard to draw attention away from soft middle.

I didn’t mind. I teased him by giving his stomach a questioning glance, but I only did it to feel young again. Brom and Vinder reminded me of our swashbuckling days, more than anyone else.

And I knew Vinder felt the same. He half-smiled, in no way bothered by my glance.

When he looked me up and down, I almost chuckled.

Although we hadn’t seen each other in years, it felt like no time had passed. Friendships like ours were rare, and I treasured them dearly.

“After you,” Vinder said, motioning to the typhon beast’s lair.

I tipped my tricorn cap and then headed inside. Vinder followed close behind.