Red Herring: Part 4

Click here to start from the beginning?

Click here to reread Red Herring: Part 3?

Red Herring - A Flash Fiction - READ FREE - Murder mystery series Part 3

Kyle breathed a half hearted chuckle, the type of laugh people usually make when they have realized something ironic after the fact, “Ya know, before this, I spent nearly a year getting rejected for every single job out there.”

“That’s what tends to happen when you have a record,” Peirson said. He knew it was a little insensitive at the current moment, but in this line of work, sensitivity could not be afforded.

“Yeah, well, when I finally came across an ad for a part time cook, I thought ‘no big deal.’ John wanted a home cooked meal everyday and Carol hates cooking. John always treated me like garbage, but he eats my food and he pays well.”

“Do you know where his money comes from? His line of work?” Peirson asked, making sure to write everything down in his little worn out notepad.

Kyle stared blankly at the detective but Peirson never looked up from his notes, “Carmine? As in Carmine Steel.”

Peirson nodded. The factory was one of the biggest job suppliers in the area. He recalled reading a newspaper article almost two years ago about the death of the owner. The company was taken over by an only son. “I suppose I should have put that together. The family business.”

“Way to go, detective,” Kyle’s voice fell heavy with sarcasm.

“Yeah, yeah,” Peirson dismissed the comment with a wave of his hand. “What were you saying about him treating you like garbage?” Peirson readied his notepad. He had a feeling Mr. Carmine had a personality worth attention, and begun writing before Kyle replied.

“To be perfectly honest, he’s an arrogant ass… sir.” Even after everything Kyle had put Peirson through, he still had respect for the detective. “He was born with a silver spoon clinched so tight between his teeth you couldn’t pry it out with the jaws of life.”

“Has he ever threatened Irma?”

Kyle rolled his shoulders and shifted uncomfortably, this was obviously a touchy topic, “I don’t think so, at least she never said anything to me about it. He’s been hitting on her the entire time I’ve worked here.”

Peirson looked up from the note pad, completely shocked. “He hits her?”

Kyle raised his left eyebrow to emphasize his look of confusion. “What? No! He hits on her, flirts, whatever.”

“Oh,” Peirson returned his attention to the notepad, using his pen to mark through what he had previously wrote. “What about the wife, Carol Carmine?”

“Irma said she’s never around during the day. She’s a wedding planner, or an event planner, something like that. When Mrs. Carmine does come home, it’s for dinner. Mr. and Mrs. Carmine rarely talk at the table, and when they do talk, it usually ends with him yelling at her. Then she’ll retreat to here,” he motioned to the bedroom they were in, “or to her sister’s, and he goes to the study.”

Peirson was observing the various portraits around the bedroom during Kyle’s explanation. The detective used his pen as a pointer and placed it on the glass of a framed photograph hanging on the wall. The photo was of a couple a year or so younger than the Carmines, “Is this Carol’s sister?”

Kyle turned to look where Peirson was pointing. “Yes, sir, Linda. And that is her husband, Charlie Whittmore.”

Peirson scribbled more notes, flipped a page and paused before asking, “And how is Carol’s relationship with Irma?”

“Irma always said that she was nicer to her than John ever was.” There was a hint of distain in Kyle’s voice. “Irma said she seemed like a good mother, said she always doted on the child, but acted like a frightened child herself.”

“Frightened of what?” Peirson asked as he continued to write in the notepad. There was a long silence that caused the detective to look up from his notes. Kyle shifted uncomfortably again and opened his mouth to answer, but thought better of it.

Peirson flipped the notepad shut. “Okay, one last question, for now, Kyle. Why did you prepare red herring, of all things?”

Kyle looked confused, perhaps not understanding the detective’s meaning. “John requested it. He said it was ‘fitting’ for the guests they were having.”

Continue Reading!

More from Holloway’s Hideaway!

The Magician – A Flash Fiction

Tipsy Scribbles: December 28, 2016

Mother’s Day Comic

Writing Prompts: Holiday, Part 3

Share: Facebooktwittergoogle_plusredditpinterestlinkedintumblrmail
Follow Us: Facebooktwitterpinterestrsstumblr

Tipsy Scribbles: December 28, 2016

Tipsy Scribbles

The year is almost over and I think we can all say that bad things have happened this year. But I would also like to look back on my personal accomplishments as an artist this year. I have created more art this year than I have in my entire life! I have also tried more mediums in the past twelve months. I have painted with water color, acrylic paint, and oil paint. I have also improved my chalk pastel skills, as well as tried oil pastels. I have always loved the simplicity of continuous line art but have never tried my hand at it until now. I can officially add this to my list of trial and error for 2016.

I hope you can look back at the year and be proud of your own accomplishments, whether great or small. Life is art, and there are no goals in art, other than the ones you set for yourself. Live your life, create it into something beautiful, and show it to the world!

Flamingo Continuous Line Drawing - Tipsy Scribbles - A picture says a thousand words when wine loosens the tongue
Flamingo
Waiting For Someone Continuous LIne Drawing - Tipsy Scribbles - A picture says a thousand words when wine loosens the tongue
Waiting for Someone

“I hope that in this year to come, you make mistakes. Because if you are making mistakes, then you are making new things, trying new things, learning, living, pushing yourself, changing yourself, changing your world. You’re doing things you’ve never done before, and more importantly, you’re doing something.”     — Neil Gaiman

More from Holloway’s Hideaway!

Red Herring Part 1 – A Flash Fiction

A D&D Narrative: They Came and Got Barbara!

Where to Start: A Star Wars Novel Guide

Tipsy Scribbles – November 2, 2016

Share: Facebooktwittergoogle_plusredditpinterestlinkedintumblrmail
Follow Us: Facebooktwitterpinterestrsstumblr

They Came and Got Barbara! A D&D Narrative

They Came and Got Barbara!

 

With the sun just starting to peak through the trees of Willowspur Forest, Devereau checked the sparse equipment that lay before him. Although Devereau was always welcome in the nearby trading post of Pondview, the seventeen year old human male had made Willowspur his home. After returning his bedroll and waterskin to his backpack, he tightened the straps of his studded leather cuirass and secured his swords at his side.

Any thoughts of a peaceful day spent searching the forest for useful goods were swiftly pushed aside when a shrill scream that was cut short rang through the dew soaked air. Devereau scooped up the backpack and his longbow and sprinted East, towards Pondview and the source of the scream. He suspected the old abandoned cabin that nature had reclaimed so many years ago. The traders of Pondview always whispered about the building being haunted. Devereau had not yet been motivated to test the rumors, until now.

He slowed his pace and crouched into the brush as he approached the abandoned cabin. The young ranger was not the only one drawn to the cabin by the scream. From the tree line on the other side of the building, a tall, thin woman in custom hide armor stepped into Devereau’s view. Pointed ears protruded from her long, unkempt auburn hair comprised of dreadlocks, braids, leaves, and twigs. Her right hand rested on the hilt of a scimitar, the curve blade fashioned from bone. A larger than average gray-brown wolf trailed her by a few paces. Her perceptive emerald eyes instantly fell on Devereau’s hiding place. He stepped from the brush and nodded to the young druid.

“Phayegwynn, I presume?” Devereau had heard rumors of the young half-elf that had been accepted by the druids of Willowspur Forest.

“The traders still speak of me in Pondview, ranger?”

“On occasion. I believe Traver misses you.” The gnome innkeeper was the only citizen of Pondview that had spoken with Devereau of her by name. “Perhaps you should visit when this is through,” Devereau suggested as he nodded towards the decades old wooden door that hung askew by a single hinge.

Without saying a word, Phayegwynn drew her scimitar and used it to push the door open, revealing a dimly lit hallway. Her wolf companion sniffed around the base of the first door on the left. Phayegwynn twisted the rusty door handle slowly and swung open with a pained groan.

To the right of the now ajar door, a humanoid figure in a black hooded robe looked over its left shoulder at them. The cloaked figure’s shoulders sagged as if from exasperation, before vanishing in a small cloud of smoke. As the smoke cleared, Devereau noticed a young woman restrained to a wooden chair. Longbow still in his hand, Devereau took one step towards the restrained woman. Phayegwynn tapped Devereau’s thigh with her scimitar and gestured towards the other side of the room as three zombies began to shamble out of the shadows in a flanking formation.

Devereau fired an arrow at the one positioning itself between Devereau and the captive woman. The arrow passed harmlessly between two sets of exposed ribs and found its mark in the rotted wood of the wall behind the shambling zombie. Phayegwynn removed the left arm of the one closest to her as the wolf tore the third into pieces. Devereau’s second arrow missed its target as the dismembered zombie’s lunge made him lose his footing. Phayegwynn slashed at the zombie at Devereau’s back. Devereau and Phayegwynn turned in unison to find the wolf standing over the remains of the final zombie. Trying to hide the disappointment that he felt with his own performance in the encounter, Devereau quickly plucked the two arrows from the back wall while Phayegwynn untied the young woman.

“What can you tell us about your cloaked friend?” Phayegwynn asked.

“I think she meant ‘Are you alright?’” Devereau eyed Phayegwynn.

“I… have no idea who that was,” tears slid down her cheeks and her eyes darted around the room, taking in the gathered party. “I was picking fruits from the edge of the forest and he grabbed me and dragged me to this… place.”

“We should check the rest of the cabin for signs of our hooded friend before returning her to Pondview,” Devereau whispered to Phayegwynn.

“Very well,” Phayegwynn nodded then helped the girl to her feet. “Come with us for a few minutes.”

The four entered the hallway, with Phayegwynn leading the party. Deciding to work clockwise around the cabin, she walked farther down the hallway to a second door on the left side. She cautiously pushed the door open to find an emptied room with vines making up more of the wall than the original wood.

With a sigh, she returned to the hallway and reached for the door knob of the door opposite the cabin’s entrance. The door yanked free of her grip. With the taste of metal on her tongue, she dived back towards the party entering the hallway from the empty room she had just left. A blast of lightening arced down the hallway and blew the entrance door off of its single remaining hinge.

“What the hell was–“ Devereau caught Phayegwynn mid interjection, “are you okay?” Devereau looked towards the door, “must be something they didn’t want us finding behind that door.”

Phayegwynn pulled herself away from Devereau and stormed into the room with her scimitar ready for attack. She stopped two steps into the room. The scimitar lowered as her eyes scanned the empty room. Nothing. No hooded figure. No furniture. No zombies. She turns back to Devereau, confused, “Why install a trap for a vacant room?” Devereau merely shrugged in his own confusion. Phayegwynn sheathed her scimitar as she returned to the hallway for the next room.

After eyeing the door and determining it wasn’t rigged with another trap, she kicked the door in with a sigh of frustration. The floor of this room was covered in ropes of various lengths and thicknesses. In the very center of the room, a large ornate mirror stood. The cloaked figure from the first room was staring straight at the party from beyond the glass. The head tilted toward the young woman before vanishing again, leaving only the reflection of the party.

Phayegwynn drew and hurled her cudgel at the mirror and it shattered instantly. Phayegwynn crossed the room to recover her club and picked up one of the larger pieces of glass shards that now accompanied the ropes. She pocketed the shard before turning to Devereau, who was inspecting some writing on the wall. Phayegwynn could only make out one word, “Erythnull.”

“It’s written in blood,” Devereau stated without checking to see if anyone else had even noticed what he was seeing. “Well let’s see what wonders that last room has to offer us.”

As the party turned for the hallway again, Devereau inspected and coiled up a useful length of rope to take with him. He rejoined the two women and the wolf as Phayegwynn slowly opened the last door.

“It would appear that something exploded,” Phayegwynn stated flatly as she eyed the crater in the floor and the scorch marks that covered what was left of the room. Noticing that the ceiling was damaged and the crater was flooded with water, she added, “a great while ago.”

“And treasure,” Devereau, more excitedly than he had meant to, pointed at a floating chest in the middle of the flooded crater. Picking up a piece of lumber, most likely once part of the ceiling, Devereau nudged the floating chest to the edge of the crater and hauled it up to an undamaged section of the floor. A handful of gold pieces lay scattered in the bottom of the chest.

“Give the gold to the girl. I have little use for it and you will surely survive without it, ranger.”

“Barbara. My name… it’s Barbara,” the young woman said, with as much confidence as she could finally manage to muster.

“Very well. Give the gold to Barbara.” Phayegwynn stroked her wolf’s head as she walked past Devereau and Barbara towards the entrance of the cabin. She wished to be back in the forest. She assumed that today would not be the last time she saw a mysterious figure causing trouble in Willowspur. The forest was her home and nothing would bring it harm.

Devereau and Barbara followed Phayegwynn to the edge of the forest in silence. Once the inn of Pondview was in sight, Phayegwynn turned to Barbara. “Speak only with Traver at the inn. Tell him what happened and he will do everything he can to help you.”

The young woman nodded, “Thank you both so much for rescuing me.”

Devereau and Phayegwynn silently nodded as Barbara jogged to the inn. “I need to consult with the elders. I’ll see you again soon, ranger.”

More From Holloway’s Hideaway!

Tipsy Scribbles

Brix (A Flash Fiction)

World Map: Vallonde

Premade D&D Character: Elf Wizard

Share: Facebooktwittergoogle_plusredditpinterestlinkedintumblrmail
Follow Us: Facebooktwitterpinterestrsstumblr

Holiday Writing Prompts Part 3: December 2016

Holiday Writing Prompts Part 3

We were in the middle of making these last week and the power went out. The images were saved roughly two minutes beforehand. Sigh of relief. By the time the power returned, we were having a new set of windows installed in our living room. So we just decided to wait until this week to post Part 3 of the Holiday Writing Prompts. Not going to lie, neither one of us are much for the “holiday spirit” so the week off saved us on coming up with additional prompts.

On to these new prompts: Les has created three new holiday (ish)themed romantic prompts. Please share your stories and artwork with us. Merry Christmas, happy holidays, and happy writing!

Holiday Writing Prompts Part 3-Dec 2016-Another year gone and she had no one to love.
Another year gone and she had no one to love. She watched the first flakes of snow sit gently on her window. She made a wish not knowing it would come true.
Holiday Writing Prompts Part 3-Dec 2016-As she walked towards the exit of her favorite coffee shop, she glanced down at her cup.
As she walked towards the exit of her favorite coffee shop, she glanced down at her cup. “You’re beautiful” was written in place of her name. She glanced back, and their eyes met.
Holiday Writing Prompts Part 3-Dec 2016-Today was miserably cold and he couldn’t understand why everyone was so happy, until he saw her.
Today was miserably cold and he couldn’t understand why everyone was so happy, until he saw her.

More From Holloway’s Hideaway!

How To Comic: Have A Perfect First Date

The Cure (A Flash Fiction)

Premade D&D Character: Elf Wizard

Tipsy Scribbles

Share: Facebooktwittergoogle_plusredditpinterestlinkedintumblrmail
Follow Us: Facebooktwitterpinterestrsstumblr

Red Herring: Part 3

Need to start from the beginning?

Red Herring - A Flash Fiction - READ FREE - Murder mystery series Part 3

Peirson reached the doorway to the bedroom where officers had placed the cook. A slightly overweight man in his mid 30s was staring at the grain pattern of the hardwood floor somewhere between the two men. He was sitting precariously on the corner of the bed nearest the door, his elbows on his knees and his fingers interlaced over his mouth.

“My name is Andrew Peirson,” he said as he closed the bedroom door. He left his back to the family’s cook as he introduced himself.  “I’m a homicide detective with the police department.”

“When did you get a promotion?” The words came out heavy and muffled, without any real inflection of emotion.

He looked up at Peirson, the only color to his features was the red of his puffy eyes. He rubbed the palms of his hands over his knees, “I gotta say that I hoped I would never see you again, Mr. Peirson.”

The corner of Peirson’s mouth went up in a somber smirk as he shook his head. “The promotion came a few years after I put you away, Kyle,” the detective explained. “Can’t seem to stay out of trouble can you?”

“No, sir, apparently not.”

The sadness in the man’s voice was unlike the rebellious and callous nature of the young man Peirson had arrested seven years ago. He had responded to shots fired at an abandoned warehouse where Kyle had been living and taking drugs. He had shot a man during a dispute over a drug deal, but the injury had not been fatal.

“I believe you were sentenced to 12 years?”

“Good behavior.” He kept his gaze on Peirson but his arms now hung limply at his sides.

The silence between them was burning time. Enough with the small talk. “Did you kill her?”

Kyle’s head dropped and his hands pulled at the back of his neck. He began to sob and rock back and forth on the edge of the bed. Peirson made a mental note to get in touch with Kyle’s therapist.

Peirson scanned the room while Kyle cried. There were nearly two dozen pictures framed throughout the room. Most were of a blonde woman in her 30s with an infant boy. There was a single photograph of a couple but the woman in the picture was not the same as the one featured in the other images, despite similarities.

“I–,” Kyle began. He cleared his throat then started again, “I could never hurt Irma. She meant the world to me. You have to believe me, Mr. Peirson.”

Peirson scratched at his left eyebrow and sighed. “You’ve certainly changed.”

“‘We all have choices to make in life.’ You told me that.”

“That does sound like something I would say,” Peirson nodded.

Kyle looked up from the floor again. “Who would want to kill an amazing woman? My Irma,” he started to cry again.

“I intend to find that out,” Peirson promised. “What can you tell me about John and Carol Carmine?”

Continue Reading!

More From Holloway’s Hideaway!

Sword Of Unquenchable Thirst

Three Day Weekend Comic

Tipsy Scribbles: December 21, 2016

Containment Breach – A Flash Fiction

Share: Facebooktwittergoogle_plusredditpinterestlinkedintumblrmail
Follow Us: Facebooktwitterpinterestrsstumblr

Tipsy Scribbles: December 21, 2016

Tipsy Scribbles

Today, December 21st, is officially the first day of winter. It is the winter solstice, the shortest day of the year, and one more reason why I should be at the beach. That is why I have made this week’s Tipsy Scribbles all about beach scenes. It may be below freezing outside, but there is a beach somewhere that is warm and sunny. To most people this is the first day of winter, but for me it is another day closer to summer, flip flops, shorts, and t-shirts. Let’s raise our piña coladas and margaritas out from under our heat blankets, cheers!

I Can See the Ocean Chalk Pastels on Paper- Tipsy Scribbles - A picture says a thousand words when wine loosens the tongue
I Can See the Ocean
White Caps Chalk Pastel - Tipsy Scribbles - A picture says a thousand words when wine loosens the tongue.
White Caps
Rocky Tide Chalk Pastels on Paper - Tipsy Scribbles - A picture says a thousand words when wine loosens the tongue
Rocky Tide

“A lot of people like snow. I find it to be an unnecessary freezing of water.”
Carl Reiner

More from Holloway’s Hideaway!

Premade D&D Character: Dwarven Cleric

Bayview Part 1: A Flash Fiction

Mysterium Board Game Review

Writing Prompts: Random

Share: Facebooktwittergoogle_plusredditpinterestlinkedintumblrmail
Follow Us: Facebooktwitterpinterestrsstumblr

Red Herring: Part 2

Need to start at the beginning? Red Herring - A Flash Fiction - READ FREE - Murder mystery series Part 2

“Peirson, sir?” one of the photographers called out as the detective made to return to the entrance hall. It was one of the new photographers. Ashley or Ashlynn or something like that. Her brunette hair was pulled into a too-tight bun.

“Yeah, Ash?” Peirson asked, carefully avoiding her full name. She hesitated before she spoke. Damn, that wasn’t it. Allison?

“I found something, sir,” she said flatly, and held up a folded piece of  paper between the fingers of her gloved hand.

Peirson patted his pockets for his own gloves: nothing. He always hated bumming gloves off the techs. They never complained, but they always gave him the small ones. He took it as a hint.

He saw a crime scene tech guarding a doorway opposite to the one he had entered through. The detective asked the tech for a pair of latex gloves. He pulled out the one-size-fits-small size, of course. While Peirson squeezed them on, he nodded to the doorway behind the tech with a questioning look.

“Hallway. Connects to the back door, a restroom, and an office,” the tech explained, watching Peirson struggling with his gloves.

“Whose office?” The gloved popped his wrist and he stifled a curse.

“I think they said it belongs to the man of the house, sir.”

Peirson nodded, making a note to check out the office as soon as he could. He returned to the photographer and her piece of paper. “What do you have for me?” She passed it to him without a word. “I guess I’ll just see for myself then,” he mumbled. She glared. Ah, work.

The paper was a short, handwritten note in heavily curved letters. One of the folds was soaked in blood, but Peirson could still read it and he did so aloud: “‘You better not forget about this weekend! Love, Irma.’ Where did you find this?”

“It was tucked into her bra strap,” Ash-Allison replied.

Peirson knelt down before the victim. Her body was resting against the cabinets in a position that made Peirson’s neck and shoulders ache. The blood had stopped flowing and was beginning to dry around the single puncture wound. It was high on her neck; the attacker did not miss the right side of her jawbone by very much.

“How tall is she?” Peirson asked, observing the downward tearing of the flesh.

“License says five foot six,” she replied.

Peirson nodded and looked across the floor to the blood coated knife next to a yellow evidence marker with a black number 2. The knife lay near the center of the kitchen, where most of the blood spatters were located. Peirson rubbed his forehead with his ungloved wrist.

“Jackson, have an officer take the cook to a bedroom or another room away from the rest of the suspects. Stay clear of this half of the house. Especially the office.”

“Yes, sir,” Jackson replied and left the kitchen.

“Why can’t we ever catch the killer with the knife in their hands?” Peirson asked no one in particular.

“Then you wouldn’t have a job,” Ash-Allison said without looking up, “sir,” and continued her work.

Continue Reading!

More From Holloway’s Hideaway!

Tipsy Scribbles

Survivor (A Flash Fiction)

Mystery Writing Prompts

Mysterium Board Game Review

Share: Facebooktwittergoogle_plusredditpinterestlinkedintumblrmail
Follow Us: Facebooktwitterpinterestrsstumblr

Tipsy Scribbles: December 14, 2016

Tipsy Scribbles

This week’s Tipsy Scribbles is celebrating improvement! You may notice the works for today seem different. These works have a border! It allows for better handling of the artwork, easier storage, and framing. I will not deny the fact I am learning as I go. Mastering a skill is a journey full of bumps, obstacles, mistakes, and trial and error. But we learn from our mistakes, and through our mistakes, we grow. You can’t let problems get you down, especially when you are perusing a passion. Giving up will only take you backwards. Stumbling through a problem may require more effort, but you will always be making forward progress.

Green Pasture Chalk Pastels on Paper - Tipsy Scribbles - A picture says a thousand words when wine loosens the tongue
Green Pasture
Cabin in a Field Chalk Pastels on Paper - Tipsy Scribbles - A picture says a thousand words when wine loosens the tongue
Cabin in a Field

“Creativity is allowing yourself to make mistakes. Art is knowing which ones to keep.”  Scott Adams

 

More From Holloway’s Hideaway

Premade D&D Character: Elf Wizard

Red Herring (A Flash Fiction)

Romance Writing Prompts

Share: Facebooktwittergoogle_plusredditpinterestlinkedintumblrmail
Follow Us: Facebooktwitterpinterestrsstumblr

Premade D&D Character: Elf Wizard

Premade D&D Character: Elf Wizard

Volodar Crasys

Premade D&D Character: Elf Wizard (Necromancer)

Medium-sized humanoid (Elf) of Chaotic Good alignment. The wizard has forsaken the school of Enchantment in an effort to further his skill at Necromancy.

Armor Class: 11 (10 Natural, +1 Dex)

Hit Points: 7 (1d4)

Speed: 30 feet

Ability Scores

  • Strength: 8 (-1)
  • Dexterity: 12 (+1)
  • Constitution: 10 (0)
  • Intelligence: 17 (+3)
  • Wisdom: 12 (+1)
  • Charisma: 10 (0)

Saving Throws: Fort (Con) +0, Ref (Dex) +1, Will (Wis) +3

Skills: Concentration +4, Knowledge (arcana) +7, Spellcraft +7, Search +4, Spot +4

Damage Resistances: Immunity to magic sleep spells and effects, and a +2 racial saving throw bonus against Enchantment spells or effects.

Senses: Low-light Vision

Languages: Common, Elven, Draconic, Gnome, and Orc

Proficiencies: Simple Weapons, all Bows, no Armor or Shields

Feats: Toughness, Scribe Scroll

School Specialization: Necromancy (Enchantment is prohibited)

Armor: None

Weapons: Quarterstaff (1d6, crit x2, 4 lb., Large, Bludgeoning). Shortbow (1d6, crit x3, 60 ft., 2 lb., Medium, Piercing).

Equipment: Backpack with waterskin, one day’s trail rations, bedroll, sack, and flint and steel. Ten candles, map case, three pages of parchment, quill, ink well. Spell component pouch, spellbook. Quiver with 17 arrows. 11 gp.

Spellbook: All 0-level spells; plus Cause Fear, Chill Touch, Ray of Enfeeblement, Feather Fall, Summon Monster I, Animate Rope.

Familiar: Cobra named Ethassu. AC 13, HP 8 (1d10+1). Master gains Perception +2

Background

Volodar Crasys, at the age of 78, had only just began his training in the magical arts to become a wizard. The instructors believed he had great potential although he lacked focus. Volodar wanted to learn as much as he could about every facet of magic.

Volodar’s life changed forever when attackers descended upon the elves’ sanctuary. Volodar was knocked unconscious during the attack and left for dead. Most of his kind were far less fortunate. When Volodar recovered, he searched though the ruins and identified the fallen as best he could. However, his young sister was missing entirely.

Volodar heeded the advice of his now deceased mentors and focused intently on the school of magic that gave him the best advantage over the forces of life and death. With his cobra familiar, Ethassu, the young wizard began his new life.

Outside Sources

Names generated via Fantasy Name Generators. Stats and information gathered from Dungeons & Dragons (3rd Edition) Player Handbook.

More Content From The Hideaway!

Echoed (A Flash Fiction)

Tipsy Scribbles

World Map: Vallonde

Staff of Sáwdor

Share: Facebooktwittergoogle_plusredditpinterestlinkedintumblrmail
Follow Us: Facebooktwitterpinterestrsstumblr

Holiday Writing Prompts Part 2: December 2016

Holiday Writing Prompts Part 2

As I suspected, I could not do a full month of holiday cheer. This week’s writing prompts are themed around the chaos and mishaps that so often arise during the holiday season. People are striving for their version of perfection during this time of year. More often than not, that is a rather bumpy road. Whatever your image of holiday perfection, please remember to be safe and try to enjoy it. Happy Holidays and Happy Writing!

Holiday Writing Prompts Part 2-December 2016-The firefighters assured them that deep frying the turkey was not the best idea.
The firefighters assured them that deep frying the turkey was not the best idea.
Holiday Writing Prompts Part 2-December 2016-Shattered ornaments littered the floor; the new puppy triumphantly slept on the downed Christmas tree.
Shattered ornaments littered the floor; the new puppy triumphantly slept on the downed Christmas tree.
Holiday Writing Prompts Part 2-December 2016-The delivery man hung his head in shame as dozens of colorfully wrapped presents lay scattered across the freeway.
The delivery man hung his head in shame as dozens of colorfully wrapped presents lay scattered across the freeway.

Please share your stories–perfection or chaos–with us on Twitter and Facebook via @hollhideaway! Subscribe to stay notified on all our activities!

More From Holloway’s Hideaway!

Grown-Up Goggles Comic

Twenty Years (A Flash Fiction)

Tipsy Scribbles

Premade D&D Character: Dwarven Cleric

Share: Facebooktwittergoogle_plusredditpinterestlinkedintumblrmail
Follow Us: Facebooktwitterpinterestrsstumblr