#pilu of the woods

[middlegradeeveryday]

Pilu of the Woods by Mai K. Nguyen

Summary:

Willow loves the woods near her house. They’re calm and quiet, so different from her own turbulent emotions, which she keeps locked away. When her emotions get the better of her one day, she decides to run away into the woods. There, she meets Pilu, a lost tree spirit who can’t find her way back home—which turns out to be the magnolia grove Willow’s mom used to take her to. Willow offers to help Pilu, and the two quickly become friends.

But the journey is long, and Pilu isn’t sure she’s ready to return home yet—which infuriates Willow, who’s determined to make up for her own mistakes by getting Pilu back safely. As a storm rages and Willow’s emotions bubble to the surface, they suddenly take on a physical form, putting both girls in danger… and forcing Willow to confront her inner feelings once and for all.

Book Type: Graphic Novel

Genre: Magical Realism

[princessofbookaholics]

This month's reading wrap up makes me seem like I don't have a life... and that would be correct! It's crazy how many books I read in April granted most of them were 3 star average reads. I got hooked on Catherine Cowles books in the last week of the month and now want to read every book she's written. I didn't think romantic suspense would be my thing but it totally is! Might have to wait till June to continue this series since next month is Asian Readathon Month! Here's this the wrap up:

The Wrong Mr. Right ⭐⭐

Several People are Typing ⭐⭐⭐

The Inmate ⭐⭐⭐

The Queen ⭐⭐⭐

Dear Enemy ⭐⭐⭐

Every Last Fear ⭐⭐

Three Keys ⭐⭐⭐⭐

First Year Orientation ⭐⭐⭐

The Unhoneymooners (reread) ⭐⭐⭐⭐⭐

Swordheart ⭐⭐⭐

The Family Secret ⭐⭐⭐

The Tokyo Zodiac Murders ⭐⭐⭐⭐

Pilu of the Woods ⭐⭐⭐⭐⭐

Death on Gokumon Island ⭐⭐⭐

If Only You ⭐⭐⭐⭐

Look Closer ⭐⭐⭐⭐

Just Between Us ⭐⭐⭐

The Marriage Act ⭐⭐⭐

The How & the Why ⭐⭐⭐⭐

Tattered Stars ⭐⭐⭐⭐

The Last Word ⭐⭐⭐

Falling Embers ⭐⭐⭐⭐

One by One ⭐⭐⭐

[xoxodustedcrypt]

y'all got any book recommendations that are preferably graphic novels? i like stuff like the tea dragon society, pilu of the woods, wings of fire, warrior cats, Emily the strange, and the true lives of the fabulous killjoys!!

[funkatello]

The Ultimate Guide to Italian Dining in Darlinghurst

Known for its lively food and bar scene, Darlinghurst offers some of the best Italian restaurants in Sydney. You’ll find authentic flavors and hospitality in this dining hub, from upscale ristorantes to cozy trattorias. Ready to explore the area’s top Italian eateries? Here’s your guide to indulging in la dolce vita in Darlinghurst:

Classic Trattorias

For a true taste of Italy, cozy trattorias serve up homestyle classics in a bustling, informal setting. Top picks include:

Stanley Street Social - Charming corner trattoria dishing up Sicilian specialties and wood-fired pizzas beside vintage vespas. Cash only.

Bar Locanda - Vintage trattoria vibes meet modern Italian fare like duck ragu pappardelle and smoked cod croquettes.

Love. Fish - Bringing Sicily’s seafood traditions to Sydney with bold pastas and grilled whole fish.

Upscale Italian

Several Darlinghurst restaurants offer refined takes on Italian cuisine with attentive service, smart decor, and globally-inspired menus. Standouts include:

Automata - Sophisticated modern Italian degustation menus paired with natural wines.

Funkatello - Slick two-level restaurant celebrating Italy’s flavors with housemade pasta, creative cocktails and Neapolitan-style pizzas.

Giuseppe, Arnaldo & Sons - Lavish modern Italian fine dining complete with chandeliers and suited waiters.

Pasta Perfection

For the best pasta in Sydney, Darlo has specialists serving homemade pastas cut, rolled, stuffed and sauced to perfection. Top pasta bars like:

Pilu at Freshwater - Handmade Sardinian delights like culurgiones ravioli and malloreddus pasta.

Restaurant Hubert - Decadent dishes like black truffle rigatoni and plump gnocchi blanketed in parmesan cream.

LP's Quality Meats - Luscious lasagna and bolognese-loaded papardelle at this upscale steakhouse.

Pizza Lovers Paradise

Alongside pasta, Neapolitan-style and gourmet pizzas fired up in wood ovens are a Darlinghurst specialty. Our top pizza picks:

Tipo 00 - Authentic Neapolitan pies with paper-thin, charred crusts in a casual setting.

Da Mario - Hefty Roman-style pizzas al taglio by the slice or whole pies.

The Dolphin Hotel - Perfectly blistered and chewy artisanal pizzas alongside boutique wines.

Italian-Inspired Cocktails

Don't forget drinks! Stanley Street restaurants and bars shake up Italian-influenced craft cocktails. Sip on Negronis, Spritzes, and new concoctions featuring Italian amari, vermouths, liqueurs and more. Top cocktail contenders include:

Maybe Frank - Italophile bar with Frizzantes and complex amari cocktails.

Continental Deli Bar Bistro - Creative yet classic Italian libations served until late.

Bringing Italy Home

Several restaurants like Funkatello also offer delicatessen takeaway counters for Italian feasts at home. Stock up on freshly made pasta, sauces, antipasti, pizzas, dolci and imported Italian goods.

Mangia bene! Let your taste buds travel to Italy through Darlinghurst's diverse Italian dining experiences. With fantastic food, hospitality, cocktails and ambiance - this Sydney gem delivers la dolce vita.

Conclusion

Darlinghurst truly encapsulates the spirit of Italian dining and hospitality. The neighborhood provides an authentic taste of Italy's regional cuisines, from cozy trattorias to upscale ristorantes. The bustling Stanley Street strip comes alive each evening with the sights, sounds and aromas of Italy.

Beyond the classics, talented chefs also put modern spins on Italian fare, focusing on seasonal, high-quality ingredients. Handmade pastas, wood-fired pizzas, and Italian-inspired cocktails all thrive thanks to passionate purveyors. Whether you seek a homestyle dish Nonna would approve of, or imaginative new flavors, Darlinghurst delivers.

For the ultimate Italian dining experience in Darlinghurst, book your table at Funkatello. Our fresh pasta, pizzas, cocktails and warm hospitality provide a sublime taste of la dolce vita.

[thebard490]

Paladins Chapter 16: We Who Bear Swords

            I am the Bard, who has seen princes set up and torn down. Rarely are they utterly extinguished, until all nobility has been forgotten.

For several long weeks the paladins had traveled the Northern Garden and now the time had come to at last assault Bloodstone Abbey, the seat of power for the local Hobgoblin legion. They had stripped away their defenses, slain or recruited half their forces, including the elite cleric Numa and the Primus Pilus Scythia, and now the time had come to break the abbey and destroy the Legate, Pompey.

Julian laid out the plan. First, the Paladins and archers would approach the abbey from the woods by night and remove the sentries with ranged attacks. Second, the Paladins would climb the walls and move to the back door of the gatehouse. Next, Jort and the goblins they had won to their side would run for the gate with the halflings on their tail to try to trick them into opening it. After the gate opened, the party would breach the gatehouse from behind to keep the gate open and allow them to move in their full force.

Once the force was inside, they would send in the goblins to the camp to try to turn as many as they can before launching a lightning assault to wipe out the surviving loyalists. This would leave them in control of everywhere but the abbey itself. From here, they would assemble to catch any attempt at escape and use their superior numbers to keep them inside while Julian used his wings to fly to the top and let down a rope, allowing the Paladins to get inside and attack the legate. Once the legate and the command staff were dead, the party would proceed downwards while their forces pressured the entrances, hitting the enemy from both sides and forcing them to surrender. It was, in theory, a good plan, a clever plan, perhaps even a merciful plan compared with their original idea of just filling the lake with poison, but it was a plan with one major flaw. It assumed the party could kill the Legate.

It was night, three nights since the battle of the Turning Sword, where Jort revealed his colors and together with the traitor goblins helped the party shatter half the legion. Three nights of preparation, planning, drilling, and training. Three nights of constant work for Kazador, reforging not only the Pilus’s plate but also a substantial amount of hobgoblin armor to fit the halflings. Jok himself now wore the bronze that once rung from the tower in the abbey in ages past. Tonight, it would ring again.

Concealed in the shadows all around the fortress were Yndri and her archers. Unbeknownst to any, tonight their arrows were not the same. Tonight, she had gifted them an assurance of killing. In the dark between the days, Yndri had slipped out of the village, and in the woods gathered nightshade, death nettle, toxic mushrooms, and other such poisons. She had ground them together into a potent natural venom and coated her charge’s arrows in them, cautioning them not to scratch themselves and swearing them to secrecy. They must not fail, even if it might offend Senket’s sensibilities.

Julian readied his crossbow, and Peregrin his sling. Kazador had taken a set of javelins from the fallen goblins and now hefted one. The sentries walked the walls, silhouettes clear in the full moon and stars, and Yndri readied a special whistling arrow tuned to play the song of a nightingale to sound the beginning of the assault. Bows were drawn, target set, breaths taken… And the nightingale sang.

Black shadows on the dark blue sky, a score and more of silver strings slipping through the air to their target. Several flew wide, but there were enough arrows to land stinging blows, and enough of those for the poison to do its work. Yndri was in fact the last to fire as she had to swap her whistle arrow for a normal one. She silently cursed the songbird, having not thought that an actual nightingale might tamper with her plans.

Still, it was to her benefit this time, as one hobgoblin remained standing, he opened his mouth to shout a warning, but it would never be sent. Two arrowheads lodged in his lungs, and the wind that would have warned his comrades of the danger was stolen from him. He gasped a few times, struggling to fill deflating lungs, and then sank to his knees. It would be a few seconds more before he died, perhaps a minute if he was particularly strong, but his last words had been spoken, and he would die drowning in his own blood.

With that near disaster averted, the second part of the plan began as the party rushed forwards to the base of the wall. While the twenty-foot cliff of solid sandstone was too sheer for even agile Yndri and Peregrin to climb, it was not so tall that a paladin ladder could not reach it. Kazador was at the bottom, followed by Julian, then Sen.

”Careful where you place your eyes.” Yndri warned the dragonoid as she clambered up.

”If yer at all symmetrical, ah might as well be lookin’ at an anvil even if ah did look up.” The dragonoid grumbled at the elf. “Now hurry up ya bloody prude, plate armor is heavy!”

With the two lightest members up, they were able to brace themselves against the crenulations, and while they don’t exactly pull Senket up, she didn't pull them down hauling herself up. She then turned and helped Julian. Kazador backed up, and took a running leap, but wasn't able to reach their outstretched hands. It seemed this dragon could not fly very well. Julian began mentally cursing himself for not being on the bottom since he could fly, but Yndri instead got out some rope and tossed it down. “We really should have thought of this sooner.” She said as she helped haul the heavy dragonoid up.

“Alternatively, we could have used Sen’s tail if we didn’t have any rope.” Julian commented dryly as he gestured at the unusually long and thick appendage.

“Try it and I’ll turn you into chicken dinner bird boy.” She responded. Peregrin curiously picked her tail up and got slapped in the face with it for his trouble.

“Let’s just deal with the hobgoblins and not waste any more time ogling the freak, shall we?” Senket grumbled irritably as she took up her position near the edge of the gatehouse and waited for Jort.

Sure enough, there he came right on schedule alongside a whole parade of goblins behind him and some particularly angry looking halflings after him. “Open the gate! Open the gate for the god’s sakes!” He shouted, and apparently it was believable, as the gate started to creak open. “Now!” Kazador hissed and the paladins moved out.

Guarded by such high walls and with a half-score men supposed to be walking atop them to view the surrounding woods, the hobgoblins in the gate house never expected to be attacked from the other side of the walls. As such, though the door was sturdy and there was a bar and lock available, it was not being used.

Kazador led the way, surprisingly quiet for his size, and one of the hobs guarding it had a moment to shout a warning to the others and draw his blade before the massive dragonoid was upon him. A whirlwind of axes split him into several pieces before he could even scream. At the gate, the leader of the commander turned from the breathless Jort to heed his comrade’s shout. He went stiff as a blade stabbed him through the back to the front, a hobgoblin blade. He was alive just long enough to know that he was betrayed.

The last of the three saw he had no chance against Kazador, and unafraid of being called a coward he flew past, ducking under his strike and pushing every ounce of his being for the door. He made it through, and then went flying forwards, wind flying from his lungs. He turned to his side to see familiar armor glinting in the moonlight. “Scythia?” He asked in confusion. The morningstar said no.

With the gates opened, the party’s small army made their way inside the quiet abbey. The great walls of Bloodstone Abbey were surpassed. Next, the goblin camp. The party called in their mounts and mounted up for the lightning strike while the goblins slipped inside their camp, that was except for one paladin.

“Where’s shorty?” Julian asked as he looked around and saw a golden retriever without a diminutive knight on his back.

“Uh oh.” Each one said at once when they realized Peregrin was now in the camp, having slipped into the goblin camp to try to convince them to lay down their arms.

“Well. If he got torn to pieces, it’s his own damn fault.” Julian said as he crossed his arms and sighed. Jort ignored this, and bereft of mount, began moving stealthy forwards towards the goblin camp.

Inside the camp, an argument was beginning to formulate as cowardice and self-interest combined with the naturally disagreeable nature of goblins to formulate the beginnings of what was looking to be a riot. Into this mess stepped Peregrin, who raised his hands and voice and began to speak.

“Friends, goblins, lend me your ears.” Several dozen flat feet turned to stare at the implacable halfling, who smiled like a champion. “Here you stand arguing amongst each other, brother and sister against one another, but asked yourselves, who is your enemy?”

Only the straight up divine intervention of his magnificent oath kept them from answering “You!”.

“Is it each other? Tell me, whom among you was the one who cast you from the abbey, though there be room enough for all? Who among you decided that you shall be chattel beneath the heels of the hobgoblins? Let him stand forth and be answered for. Whose gods cast down your pantheon and left you a scattered people? Who was it that decreed that you must leave your homes and your families, to depart from peaceful life into unending service in this host? Who is it that lays claimed falsely to your lives, to your labor, to your very souls? I tell you; it is not your brothers or your sisters, it is no goblin at all!”

“How long shall you allow petty disagreement to keep you at the bottom? How long shall you live enslaved to your so-called betters, and even still to the weakling bully of a god that bears his whip? Is this what you desire? Hovels and shanty towns on the outskirts of the conquests you fought and bled for? The scraps tossed from the table of the hobgoblins and the conqueror? Is this all you are worth? To be less than scum, never to be anything more than the lowest of the low? To be forever despised and reviled by your “allies”? To be thought of as rats?”

The goblins began to listen, in spite of themselves, and look around, look at what was built by the free and what they were allowed to build. “I say thee nay! I say let this be the end of that age, let this be the end of such a state! The paths lie before you are thus. You may attack me, and because of your great numbers, you may even strike me down. What then? A continuation, a lifetime beneath the boots of others and then an eternity before the whip of the bully god. Or, rise above this wretched station, forsake this wicked hierarchy, you know this, those fruits of villainy are never anything but servitude and hatred. Turn from this, and let this day be sung in history of when the noble history of the goblin people began, ever upward until the day when your children, your grandchildren, they are called heroes and champions, worthy as any other!”

That speech, perhaps because of the divine will behind it, perhaps for persuasive rhetoric, or perhaps simply because this halfling, this knight, this hero dared to believe in goblins of all creatures, stirred their hearts and minds and for a brief moment they dared to dream. To dream that one day they might be slaves no more, that their children might be something more, that there might even be a day when they could be called heroes in their own right. For a brief shining moment, the goblins stood and saw a choice before them.

“Well done well done indeed!” An old and rich voice spoke, and that voice made the whole of the host flinch, slow clapping of metal gauntlets echoed as a hobgoblin stepped into the light of the goblin’s cooking fire.

He was tall and almost noble looking, broad yet lean, neither as heavy as Senket nor as mighty as Kazador, but still his presence made him seem a titan. His armor gleamed in the firelight, and a , febladearfully and wonderfully forged hung at his side, and on his side a sturdy steel shield. On his back was a great cloak of a dire bear’s skin, a princely garment paid for with a scar and a harsh battle. His face was handsome in spite of his many scars, in fact it might have been more handsome for them. Doubtless his noble visage would have been the envy of many kings, and his mighty frame that of adventurers and savage lords. He bore a helm crowned with seven eagle plumes, and behind it shone silver eyes bright with cold intellect.

This was the legate, the breaker of legions. This was the champion, the slayer of heroes. This was the scourge, the bane of abbots. This was Pompey, lord of Bloodstone Abbey, knight of the great Conqueror.

Fear began to close on Peregrin’s heart as he realized that this was a trap. The guards at the gatehouse did not expect to be attacked from within the abbey, and so they did not lock the door. The paladins did not expect to be attacked from without, and forgot to shut the gate.

The last halflings to enter the gate, the archers, whirled as they heard the sudden thunder of steel boots behind them. The remaining hobgoblin legion charged them from behind and fell upon them. They screamed out into the dark as the horde filled the door and trapped the rebels inside. The paladins whirled in total surprise, and Yndri turned dark as she remembered the mocking words of a jester. “This is indeed not over goblin. You shall suffer for this.” She promised as she drew her bow.

“I must admit, your strategy has been quite good, and you behaved just as you should have to defeat me. Whomever your strategist is, I salute him.” Pompey said as he stepped forwards and drew his axe. “But I am afraid that your little incursion is at an end. Singulares, deal with him.” He ordered the goblins, but they did not move, either for fear or for indecision.

“Perhaps it was a better speech than you realized.” Peregrin answered as he drew his own blades and eased into his stance.

“Jaborah.” Pompey said with a smile. “It has been twenty years since I slew the last champion of the withered guard. It shall be good to do so again.” He said shifting into his own stance, and Peregrin felt a cold fear try to take hold, but he did not quail before it. For a moment, hope and terror looked one another in the eye. Feet bare and booted shifted, and the fire of the goblins crackled in the night. Then they sprang.

Peregrin struck first and struck hard, lunging low beneath his opponent’s swipe and opening two festering wounds in his legs. Those same legs lashed out and kicked him back. A blade came down. Peregrin raised his swords and parried, but the might of the blow staggered him briefly. A shield crashed into his guard and scattered. Peregrin went pale as Pompey reversed his axe and struck the halfling across the face, sending him sprawling with ears ringing.

Sparks danced in the darkness as Peregrin and Pompey went back and forth, swiping, dodging, parrying, grazing, each well aware that a single mistake could cost them their lives. Each was a master of their art, both good men, but both knew that a big good man would eventually beat a small good mam. Furthermore, Pompey’s armor was troublesome for such small blades to defeat, even if they could slip past his defenses. The goblins watched in awe, unwilling or unable to betray their master, yet still holding on to hope against hope that he might fall as the two figures clashed in the firelight for the fate of the abbey.

Back at the gate, Yndri whirled in the night and called blade to hand to plunge into the melee, ancient words upon her lips. “Arise root and branch, wind as web and wave!” And as at the ruin of the halfling village, the forest answered, binding the hobgoblins in silver vines like spider thread.

“Order on me! Protect the halflings!” Julian shouted as he drew his blade and charged, cleaving down the bound soldiers before their friends could free them.

“Kazador!” Senket shouted as she moved to help him “Get Jort and Peregrin, then guard our rear! We shall hold them!” She promised, reforged armor and old mace glinting as she fell into the fray.

“Aye las!” Kazador said as he ran for the goblin camp. It was not too far, but still he prayed he was not too late.

The hobgoblins did not simply climb over their friends like the gnolls did, but instead those on the other side of the obstruction shifted to two handing their longswords and hacked away the vines, freeing their friends and then stepping aside as others rush in. Despite being so heavily outnumbered, the paladins did not give an inch, despite sustaining blows. Julian rolled past the cut to his shoulder and struck a head from its owner’s shoulders. Using the momentum of the blade, he cut into another before whirling to cut through sword, armor, and hobgoblin. 

His phantom blade took its place beside him. Senket bore perhaps the harshest fury of the hobgoblins, as they recognized whose armor she was wearing, and fell upon her with all wrath. Fortunately, that armor was also enough to ward her from their strike. She responded without fear, every motion pushing through one attack to another, hurling hobs back and splitting apart bodies with mighty swings. 

Yndri received once more the ancestral hatred hobgoblins have for all her kin, but this time she was better prepared and a shade more cautious, not allowing a single blow to land. She danced between their dangerous yet inaccurate blows and showed just why a careful strike could be as deadly as a mighty one by way of slit throats and severed arteries.

As the hobgoblins pushed forwards once more into the thin line of the crusaders, their charge was blunted by an unexpected source. A shower of projectiles fell upon them, wounding several as the halflings picked up the bows of their dead comrades and fired into the oncoming horde. The heroes took heart, and though the odds were against them, fought on all the more furiously.

Julian stood proud, his mighty blade and long reach keeping the wide center of the corridor clear, keeping the hobgoblins from getting close enough to strike down the rallying archers. A small pile of mangled bodies was forming around him, though his own blood flowed freely, golden ichor swirling into strange patterns among blue blood, streams of light in an ocean of darkness. Senket stood by the wall as if she were a part of it, unbreakable and unmoving. Though hobgoblins swarmed all around her and wounds slowed her, she did not fall. Using every weapon she could in the tight melee, shield and mace, tail and hoof, every part of her a weapon to hold back an army. Opposite her, radiant even bloodied, flowed Yndri. The elven woman stood where the moon shines and knew no fear, for her goddess was with her. A smile on her lips and life fully in her eyes, she did not diminish even as she whirled, dealing death with death drawing nearer with every blow she took. Still she stood, a song upon her lips and a bulwark against terror.

And to that bulwark, to that wall, to that whirlwind of fury the halflings rallied, and they filled the gaps between the paladins, giving them much needed breathing room. In that moment, the plot of Pompey failed. While he had planned to turn the abbey into a death trap, the Paladin’s swift action had turned the gatehouse into a massive force multiplier, preventing the full horde from attacking at once, and without their overwhelming numbers, they could not win. Whether they would all live to see that victory was another matter altogether.

Jort finally raced into view of the duel between the two champions. “POMPEY!” He roared in challenge, briefly distracting the warlord. Peregrin saw his chance and leaped, blades leveled to piece the legate’s throat.

Only the warlord’s armor saved his life, as the blades deflected, but in that moment, fate bent, and they deflected into slim cracks and slipped through, pumping Pompey full of dark energy. The warlord roared and threw Peregrin off with his shield, bringing his blade down again, but for the third time the world twisted, and his blow struck air. But he had another blow, and as he reversed his blade for that second blow, the scales of fate were balanced. It was a textbook hit, perfect even. The blade pierced under Peregrin’s chain shirt, and came out his back. Then, Pompey tore it out and to the side, ripping out half of the halfling’s intestines, severing his spine, and leaving him in the midst of a rapidly forming pool of blood and bile.

There were two clacks, and then a thud, as two bone hilted swords hit the dirt, followed by the ruined body of Peregrin Horserider.

“Yes, Jort?” Pompey asked. “I believe you have come to try and kill me. Do you still think that wise?” He asked, leveling his bloodstained blade at the younger hobgoblin.

“No, but it doesn’t matter.” Jort snarled, and charged. Gladii clashed against one another with enough force that steel chipped, and Jort’s shield met Pompey’s. The older hobgoblin went flying back, landing on his heels with the breath stolen from his lungs. The young man crashed against the old like an avalanche, pushing him back another step and making him strain for all he was worth against the sudden, fanatical strength of the young warrior. “For the sake of my father. For the sake of my friends. I. Will. Kill. You.”

“All this still for Marius. You betray everything for a dead man?” Pompey asked. Then he was to the side, Jort’s force carried him forwards, off-balance, Pompey struck, and Jort raised his shield to block. But in the space of a breath, Pompey’s sword and shield switched places, and one shield clubbed another aside. Pompey’s blade flashed, and Jort’s shield fell away from his now lacerated arm, cut free. Pompey’s boot followed through, hitting Jort below the belt, before coming up smash into his face. Jort fell to the ground, but rolled back to his feet, bleeding from a broken nose and a slashed arm.

“Not just that.” Jort wheezed, but raised his blades again. “It’s wrong, all of it. Damn you. Your treachery, your cruelty, the way you need to see everything under your boot, every good thing in the world crushed and brought to bear, as if only we, only you could have any of it! As if we have the right to starve and enslave the ones in the same breath we say we’re protecting. As if we can betray our brothers, our allies, in the name of greater brotherhood and your damned corpse of an empire! Even a child could see and understand how wicked you have made us. If you are loyalty, then I will gladly be called a traitor!” He roared, and came back in again.

His passion gave his muscles strength beyond their limits. Like a man possessed, he threw himself at Pompey, who fell back before the nearly rabid onslaught. Even so, though he gained ground, Jort could not land a blow. The legate’s weapon and shield were everywhere, able to switch between hands and change his threat profile in an instant. There were no weak spots, and no safe angles of approach. Cuts lashed across Jort’s face, arms, and breastplate as he continued his assault. “If even a child can see this, understand that there is some law written on the hearts of man, some truth of good and evil, and you reject it, how can such a fool as you dare to lead, dare to claim the right to commit such great evils for such a greater good?”

Pompey hit him with the edge of his shield, hard enough to crack the younger man’s jaw. His blade flashed backwards nearly instantly, sending Jort sprawling with the side of his face cut to the bone. “I see now that not only I failed you, but so too did Marius. Indeed, children have many foolish ideas that they think wise. It is the responsibility of fathers to beat such things out of them.” Jort staggered to his feet, grimacing through the pain. “But for you, it seems our combined failure was terminal.” Pompey growled.

They clashed again, but weakened by his wounds, Jort was simply outmatched. He realized there was no way to win this and live. His brief life flashed before his eyes. Warmth by the fireside. First his father. Then the paladins, a long darkness between them. There could still be hope, but not so long as that darkness remained. He moved with a blow from Pompey’s shield, and switched his sword from one hand to the other and raised it high. Pompey’s blade was already moving towards his throat. He didn’t bother trying to block, but brought the blade down.

Something turned it aside. He stared in shock, as Pompey had drawn a dagger from a hidden sheath behind his shield, swapped it into his other hand, and parried the falling blade. A masterful display, that left Jort’s all or nothing attack falling to the side worthlessly. Then his true blade flashed upwards, and Jort staggered back, blood spraying from the side of his throat. Pompey had slashed open his carotid, a mortal blow.

“I take no joy in this, my son.” Pompey said, almost regretfully, as he watched Jort stagger back. “But I’m in it for the species. This is the only path that we can take to restore our glory. I cannot allow anyone, even you, to stand in that path.” He sighed. “Such a waste, I thought perhaps one day, you might carry on to see the world as it should be.”

Then, he paused, and shifted back slightly. The blood had stopped flowing, and Jort did not fall. He took a step back, and then snapped his gaze down, meeting eye to eye with the legate. “Maybe, maybe you’re right.” He said, with cold clarity, and a foot forwards. “Perhaps, the only way we can regain the world is through your methods.”

The two clashed again, Pompey raised his shield, and it didn’t matter. A flash of lighting roared into being at the impact, blinding and electrocuting the legate. He howled in pain and surprise, and went staggering backwards. “But what cost will you take from our souls?” Jort took a step forwards and kicked his shield into his hands. “And what cost must that bring?” Blades locked, lighting howled, and the legate fell back. “Justice will always step forwards to have her due!” Jort continued, and slammed his shield into Pompey’s chest. The legate hit the ground hard, and Jort brought his blade down, all the fury of heaven shrouding it. He drove it towards that hateful helm, and struck true for the eye slits. His blade pierced through, and buried itself in the legate’s eye, making a ruin of it, though he could not reach the brain. “And the world cannot long abide those who turn from the path of the righteous!”

The legate tore himself free from the voltaic judgement. Jort’s blade slipped, biting into the earth, and then Pompey’s dagger slashed open his heel. “Souls? A soul is only a man's memory, the story told of him. To those who triumph, the right is given to write their own story. Those who are damned are the weak, for only the weak may be damned.” The legate remarked as he came to his feet. Jort whirled to strike, and hit air, before another boot struck out. He raised his shield, but the block threw him back onto the wounded heel. His balance failed, and Pompey pressed him further. “Righteousness, Justice, you speak with a child's understanding. Justice is found in determining exceptions, and those are made by the sovereign. Whosoever is king, he then is justice.”

He pressed down, throwing Jort further off balance by his wounded heel. Jort struck to counter, but Pompey’s dagger was swifter. Three of Jort’s fingers fell from his hand, and with them his sword. Then the dagger struck him in the side, and Pompey cast him down. “As for such things as righteousness, indeed, there is the instinct of group survival, but it is only rightly followed to one's own kind. To show mercy to your enemy is to show cruelty to your kin.” He kicked the younger hobgoblin’s shield aside and brought his boot down on it, breaking Jort’s wrist and pinning his arm to the ground. Gentleness in battle is evil, for it allows the enemy to destroy your people. Righteousness, in short, is only that which benefits the race.”

He raised high his blade in both hands. “Finally, as for laws, I know at the very least I taught you this much. Quoting law is worthless for we who carry swords.” The blade fell, and something hot as a forge stepped forwards.

“This then, is where you fail” A voice, deep and terrible, spoke. An axe met the falling blade, and the blade shattered like glass. Pompey whirled, then something hit him in the chest, a white-hot blur that burned and broke his armor, hurling him bodily with broken ribs. “Those who think swords make laws must not wear crowns.”

Pompey got up, coughing up blood, and looked at death. The dragon stepped over his wounded comrades, blazing like a torch in the darkness. His scales glowed red-hot, his breath licked with tongues of fire. But his eyes, his eyes were most terrible, piercing through Pompey and leaving his soul bare. “Your laws end with your sword.” Kazador snarled. “Your rule dies with you, and its death is long overdue.”

The battle still raged at the gate. Julian still swung, blood still flowed, hobgoblins died, and the paladins held, but all that was distant now to Kazador. All of it was so very far away, gone beneath a tidal wave of fury, a melting, searing hate like magma from the core of the earth, white hot and overwhelming. His body burned, the dwarven mail turning red-hot from its wearer’s own internal heat as axe raked the air like a talon. Kazador spoke an oath, not in his thickly accented common, not even in the dwarven tongue his mind knew best. He spoke as a dragon, in the language his mind had never learned but his blood had never forgotten, and his words were power, graven into the soul and name of the world by ancient magic.

“Pompey. By Bahamut, by Tiamat, by ancient Mardok. By the blood of my ancestors, by the strength of stone and by the purity of fire. I will kill you. For the sake of any righteous crown cannot abide unrighteous ones, and, petty as it may be, because you dared to hurt my friends.” Pompey felt in that moment a chill, though the night was warm, and heat washed out in waves from the enraged dragonoid such that the air around him shimmered. He felt the chill of death, and his breath left frost upon his lips at the sheer might of Kazador’s vow of enmity.

The other paladins sensed the divine power manifesting and knew what it meant. For a moment they considered turning back, but they would not let this be in vain, and so, in the name of their fallen brother-in-arms, they brought furious vengeance upon the hobgoblins. Pulsing crimson, slashing silver, radiant golden flame. The fury of the paladins was greater and more terrible than anything the hobgoblins had ever seen. Julian moved like a Solar, each blow turning bodies to red mist, leaving mangled armor in his wake. Yndri flowed like lightning, and neither blade nor bone remained unsevered before her blades. Senket was perhaps most terrible of all, horns in flame, hooves grounding dust into the air around her, armor was broken, bodies burnt to ash as though the fires of hell itself sprang forth from her.

What then shall hobgoblins do against such reckless hate? Naught remained but to flee, for even the iron discipline of that race has limits, and to see so many of their number laid low by such mighty forces was too much even for them. They broke and forsook the abbey forevermore.

Yet their captain remained, and he and Kazador flung themselves at one another. Axe clashed against dagger. Though weakened by Peregrin’s fell blows, Pompey was still a mighty man of valor indeed. He caught the other axe on his shield, but the axe went through, and Kazador ripped it from his arm, carving a deep rent in Pompey’s flesh and armor as he did. He swung again and Pompey reached up and grabbed him by the wrist, holding the larger man back. The remaining paladins turned and rushed to their friend’s aid, pounding down the courtyard in their haste.

Pompey drove his blade into a weak point in Kazador’s armor, twisting it. He slipped away from a blow, and struck again, again, and again, but it had seemingly no effect. He could not bleed the dragonoid dry, for such was his fury that he cauterized his own wounds as they were inflicted. He swung his axes in a pincer, keeping Pompey from fleeing. Instead, the legate moved forwards, using all his strength to drive his blade through Kazador’s elbow and hold back one side of the dragon’s onslaught. But Kazador tensed himself, and Pompey felt as though he was pushing against a wall. He fell back, trying to slip away. But Kazador’s other axe swung into Pompey’s blind spot and made contact.

There was the sound of shattering metal, mulched flesh, and fractured bone. Kazador’s blow blew Pompey’s helmet apart, and buried the head of the axe to the haft in the legate’s face. Pompey’s grip on his dagger wavered, then, he gripped it fiercely again, denying death even with a solid three inches of red-hot metal embedded in his brain. “No.” He whispered. “I have too much still to do.” Then Kazador tore his axe free, and swung both like a pair of scissors. Pompey’s head soared into the air, last eye briefly flicking this way and that, attempting to make sense of what had happened. Then it hit the ground with an unceremonious thud, and the legate was no more.

The party arrived to see Kazador collapsed into a seat, still glowing from his rage. The dragonoid reached out a hand and laid it upon Peregrin’s laboring body, still desperately holding on. The others laid their hands upon him, and the healing magic flowed, even Jort, somewhat unsure of himself, assisted in spite of his wounds, and soon enough the flesh re-knit and the hazel eyes open.

”Ugh… well, all of you here, it’s quite heartwarming. No wait that’s Kazador ow! Ow!” He said as he wiggled away from the still stove-hot dragonoid. “Good to know we can cook eggs on you if we ever lose the frying pan!”

Kazador looked at him sternly, and then just grinned and threw back his head in a long and rumbling laugh of relief. “A shame nearly dying dinae force ye tae reconsider yer terrible sense of humor ya wee bastard!”

Peregrin laughed, and then returned the favor, laying a hand upon Jort and healing his wounds in turn. “I saw what you did, welcome to the party my young friend.” He said, proud as a father.

Julian raised an eyebrow in confusion then remembered the sound of roaring thunder. “Wait, are you saying…” He said in some wonder, as Jort turned towards Peregrin in equal confusion.

“Aye, I saw it as well. A sleeping giant awakening. A paladin, come into their power.” Kazador confirmed.

Jort looked down at his hands, and wondered at the sparks of electricity which still danced there. “I… I guess so. I’m not sure how or what I did. I just…”

“Stood up for the right thing.” Senket finished.

“Had something to fight for.” Yndri added.

“Saw the world as it aught to be.” Julian considered.

“Woke up, and grew up.” Peregrin noted.

“Did what ye had to.” Kazador finished. “That’s all it is. We do what we can, an’ when that’s nae enough, we figure out how to do more.”

And so, the Paladins retired for the night, entering the sandstone abbey for the first time, and in triumph. The halflings and the goblins looked at one another with great unease, but for the moment the presence of the paladins and the euphoria of the night was enough to keep tensions silent.

“We really ought to re-christen this place. Bloodstone Abbey seems too grim for a place like this.” Senket considered as they entered the great hall, the warm walls rising upwards above many long tables.

“Save that theological debate for the morning, I’m tired. If you have to do it tonight, then just call it Redwall or something like that and be done with it.” Julian grumbled as he headed in the general direction of what was either the dormitories, or the cellar.

“Redwall? Seems a little too obvious. It probably had a name before the goblins took it, maybe we can find that.” Yndri suggested.

“Fer once I agree with ser chicken nugget, ah’m offskee.” Kazador grumbled as he wandered off to bed, which for him probably is in the cellar. The remaining paladins looked at one another and shrugged, before bidding one another good night, and wandering off to find proper beds for a well-earned rest.

[godzilla-reads]

November 18, 2021

Oh boy do I love graphic novels. This year I've been really getting into them, so here is the start to my collection. I've only read 5 of the ones in this picture, but I'm gearing up to read the others! If you have any graphic novel recs, PLEASE let me know!!

[pilumnustrail]

🌱i adore the forest, especially my forest. i miss my home, and i miss the birds chirping. i miss the creek and the sound of the water rushing through the rocks. i miss the sweet smell of my home and i miss my sisters and my mother, even if i feel alone with them sometimes. i miss chicory too and i miss her fluffy fur. but most of all i miss willow, and i wish she was with me right now and i could go on another adventure w her again. i miss her so much,, i wish she was here and i wish i was home. :c

[de-la-bibliotheque]

And our little actions can echo so far beyond these trees.

Mai K. Nguyen, Pilu of the Woods

[ohmaipie]

Pilu of the Woods and More!!!

Hi, Friends! It’s been so long since I’ve been on here, but with the recent Tumblr chaos, I just wanted to pop-in and give y’all an update of where you can find me!

So the most exciting update is that my middle-grade graphic novel is coming out April 17th of next year!! 

🌱It’s called Pilu of the Woods and it looks like this: 🌱

It’s about a girl named Willow who runs away from home. She befriends a lil’ lost forest spirit named Pilu and they try to find their way back home. It’s a short story, but I put my whole dang heart in it, so I hope you’ll enjoy it.

✨You can pre-order it with these links!!:✨

Amazon: https://amzn.to/2u6pHE2 Barnes & Noble: http://bit.ly/2v8pp0V Simon & Schuster: http://bit.ly/2u4BrXX

Or you can ask your local book store to order some! Pre-orders help creators a lot, since it shows that people are interested! 

Lastly, I’m a bit more active on other social media platforms.  I have a low-key internet presence in general, but you can still find me at these locations:

Twitter: https://twitter.com/ohmaipie Instagram: https://www.instagram.com/ohmaipie/?hl=en Website: https://www.ohmaipie.com/

I’m generally just ohmaipie anywhere on the internet!

[unidentified-flying-sparrow]

Free Comic Review: Ghost Hog, 2019

Another Free Comic Book Day has come and gone and I definitely loaded up! Y’know, cuz I don’t already have a big enough pile of free comics to read...*cough*

Anyway, I did actually manage to read one of those freebies on the same day I got it!

I have no problem picking up comics aimed for all ages or for younger audiences. @lechevaliermalfet and I have nieces and nephews, and if I get my rear in gear, the free comics I don’t want to keep will either find homes with them, or in Little Free Libraries. So, I got this one from a local library that was celebrating Free Comic Day for the first time.

And it’s actually kinda cute? Truff is a ghost hog and her interactions with other spirits are a bit amusing. The art is fun, colors great...

There was a very brief glimpse of another comic within this one, called Pilu of the Woods, but it wasn’t enough to make an impact on me. 

I fell off the daily reviews because my work and sleep schedules sorta went to hell, but I will still try to do these at least somewhat regularly. I need to get through these comics, since probably 95% of them will need new homes once I’m done with them.

[mysoul4books]

Pilu of the Woods by Mai K. Nguyen (publish date April 16, 2019)

For fans of Anya's Ghost comes PILU OF THE WOODS, a heartwarming story of friendship, loss, and finding your way home from debut author/illustrator Mai K. Nguyen.

Willow loves the woods near her house. They’re calm and quiet, so different from her own turbulent emotions, which she keeps locked away. When her emotions get the better of her one day, she decides to run away into the woods. There, she meets Pilu, a lost tree spirit who can’t find her way back home—which turns out to be the magnolia grove Willow’s mom used to take her to. Willow offers to help Pilu, and the two quickly become friends. But the journey is long, and Pilu isn’t sure she’s ready to return home yet—which infuriates Willow, who’s determined to make up for her own mistakes by getting Pilu back safely. As a storm rages and Willow’s emotions bubble to the surface, they suddenly take on a physical form, putting both girls in danger… and forcing Willow to confront her inner feelings once and for all.

**************************************************

Thanks to Netgalley and the publisher I was able to read this book in exchange for an honest review.

———————

This is a beautiful and heartbreaking story. My eye was caught because the description compared it to Hilda which I’ve fallen in love with recently, but it’s definitely its own story.

Willow is a girl wrestling with her own demons and after a fight with her sister and running away she comes across Pilu, a tree spirit who also ran away from home, and she offers to help take her back home. I loved the manifestation of Willow’s emotions as little demons that she tries to contain, it’s an image that kids can understand and grasp.

The book touches on loss, grief, coping with strong emotions, and strength. Willow thinks the last one means she can’t let anyone see her slip but on this beautiful emotional journey, that definitely made me cry a bit, she comes to learn otherwise.

The art is beautiful (so so beautiful) and bright and colorful. It’s very attention grabbing and I loved it.

[miss0nonsense]

Cottagecore book recommendations

Here are some books to read if you want to feel like a cottagecore fairy ❀

Laura Ingalls series - Laura Ingalls

Anne of Green Gables series - L.M Montgomery

Jane Eyre - Charlotte Bronte

How to find flower fairies - Cecily Mary Barker

Marigolds for Malice - Bailey Cattrell

Opal Plumstead - Jacqueline Wilson

A Little Princess - Frances Hodgson Burnett

Secret Garden - Frances Hodgson Burnett

How to be a good creature - Sy Montgomery

The Complete Brambly Hedge - Jill Barklem

Heidi - Johanna Spyri

Pilu in the woods - Mai Nguyen

[princessofbookaholics]

Asian Readathon Recs + TBR

The Asian Readathon is a month-long readathon from May 1st to 31st dedicated to reading books by Asian authors or with Asian characters and I'm definitely participating! I thought I should make a post with all the recommendations I have for the readathon and also all the Asian books I have on my entire TBR. My goal is to read as many Asian books as I can throughout the month.

Details about the readathon:

google doc with all details: read here

[UPDATE 2022: currently using this as a personal master list for all asian books that I recommend + the ones on my TBR; under the cut]

So let's go on to the book recs:

young adult contemporary:

-> recommendations:

to all the boys i've loved before series by jenny han

when dimple met rishi by sandhya menon

a match made in mehendi by nandini bajpai

i believe in a thing called love by maureen goo

my so-called bollywood life by nisha sharma

a pho love story by loan le

xoxo by axie oh

you've reached sam by dustin thao

summer bird blue by akemi dawn bowman

starfish by akemi dawn bowman

a time to dance by padma venkatraman

everyone hates kelsie miller by meredith ireland

well, that was unexpected series by jesse q. sutanto

we are not free by traci chee

fake dates and mooncakes by sher lee

-> to be read:

darius the great is not okay by adib khorram

parachutes by kelly yang

tokyo ever after by emiko jean

arya khanna's bollywood moment by arushi avachat

general fiction:

-> recommendations:

if i had your face by frances cha

the travelling cat chronicles by hiro arikawa

a thousand splendid suns by khaled hosseini

girls burn brighter by shobha rao

mika in real life by emiko jean

almond by won-pyoung sohn

yellowface by r. f. kuang

-> to be read:

days of distraction by alexandra chang

on earth we're briefly gorgeous by ocean voung

welcome to hyunam dong bookshop by hwang bo-reum

graphic novel/manga:

-> recommendations:

anya's ghost by vera brosgol

the prince and the dressmaker by jen wang

death note series by tsugumi ohba and takeshi obata

quiet girl in a noisy world by debbie tung

they called us enemy by george takei

orange series by ichigo takano

persepolis by marjane satrapi

stargazing by jen wang

tidesong by wendy xu

spy x family series by tatsuya endo

pilu of the woods by mai k. nguyen

-> to be read:

laura dean keeps breaking up with me by mariko tamaki

anthology:

this one summer by mariko tamaki

the waiting by keum suk gendry-kim

-> recommendations:

a thousand beginnings and endings by ellen oh and elsie chapman

an unrestored woman by shobha rao

how to pronounce knife by souvankham thammavongsa

before the coffee gets cold series by toshikazu kawaguchi

my pen is the wing of a bird by 18 afghan women

-> to be read:

once upon an eid by s. k. ali and aisha saeed

afterparties by anthony veasna so

mystery/thriller:

-> recommendations:

confessions by kanae minato

going dark by melissa de la cruz

can you see me now by trisha sakhlecha

the decagon house murders by yukito ayatsuji

detective kosuke kindaichi series by seishi yokomizo

the butcher by jennifer hillier

detective kaga series by keigo higashino

detective galileo series by keigo higashino

the tokyo zodiac murders by soji shimada

the untouched crime by zijin chen

-> to be read:

the good son by you-jeong jeong

miracle creek by angie kim

the widows of malabar hill by sujata massey

middle grade:

-> recommendations:

the village by the sea by anita desai

other words for home by jasmine warga

amal unbound by aisha saeed

kiki's delivery service by eiko kadono

malgudi days by r. k. narayan

the night diary by veera hiranandini

front desk series by kelly yang

spirit hunters series by ellen oh

-> to be read:

sidekick squad series by c. b. lee

eva evergreen, semi-magical witch by julie ab

romance:

-> recommendations:

the kiss quotient series by helen hoang

marriage game series by sara desai

modern love series by alisha rai

dating dr. dil by nisha sharma

twisted series by ana huang

the unmatchmakers by jackie lau

awkward in october by teresa yea

the influencer series by amy lea

kings of sin series by ana huang

-> to be read:

booked on a feeling by jayci lee

fantasy:

-> recommendations:

shiva trilogy by amish tripathi

warcross duology by marie lu

the daevabad trilogy by s. a. chakraborty

the poppy war trilogy by r. f. kuang

babel by r. f. kuang

the green bone saga by fonda lee

untethered sky by fonda lee

the kingdom of back by marie lu

the cat who saved books by sosuke natsukawa

spin the dawn duology by elizabeth lim

-> to be read

wicked fox by kat cho

we hunt the flame duology by hafsah faizal

non-fiction:

-> recommendations:

know my name by chanel miller

ace by angela chen

i'm afraid of men by vivek shraya

white tears/brown scars by ruby hamad

in order to live by yeonmi park

-> to be read:

minor feelings by cathy park hong

LET'S READ ASIAN BOOKS!

[avasbookshelf]

Books I've read this year...so far

Note: I will be updating this list over time and then I will start a new list next year.

Heartstopper series 1-4 by Alice Oseman

The Witch Boy series by Molly Knox Ostertag

Girl from the sea by Molly Knox Ostertag

Teen Titans: Beastboy by Kami Garcia

Teen Titans: Beastboy loves Raven by Kami Garcia

Shattered Warrior by Sharon Shinn

I am not Starfire by Mariko Tamaki

Quincredible series 1-2 by Rhodney Barnes

Chesire Crossing by Andy Weir

Save Yourself by Bones Leopard

The Oracle Code by Marieke Nijkamp

Mamo by Sas Milledge

Blackbird by Sam Humphries

The Wendy Project by Jane Melissa Osbourne

Snotgirl series 1-2 Bryan Lee O'Malley

Kodi by Jared Cullum

The Runaway's Diary by James Patterson

M is for Monster by Talia Dutton

Dracula, Motherfucker! by Alex de Campi

Dead Endia by Hamish Steele

The Rema Chronicles by Amy Kim Kibuishi

Bear by Ben Queen

Pilu of the woods by Mai K. Nguyen

Nightlights by Lorena Alvarez Gomez

Batman: Nightwalker by Marie Lu

Gotham High by Melissa de la Cruz

Always Human by Ari North

Aquicorn Cove by Kay O'Neill

[librarycomic]

Pilu of the Woods by Mai K. Nguyen. Oni Press, 2019. 9781620105634. 160pp. including a nature journal and a recipe for mushroom rice in the back. http://www.powells.com/book/-9781620105634?partnerid=34778&p_bt

Willow is in elementary school. She cries a lot and lashes out. (A lot of that is because her mom died after Willow said some horrible things to her, though that's not incredibly clear until much later in the book.) Willow's sister, who is trying to take care of her, tells her she needs to grow up and stop being so out of control. Willow, upset, runs off into the woods with her dog, Chicory, where they meet a lost forest spirit, Pilu, who ran away from home after fighting with her mother. By trying to help Pilu find her way home, Willow opens up about the little monsters inside her that sometimes take over (Pilu has her own version of these, too), and tries to find a better way to deal with them than locking them away.

Nguyen's art feels very kind and friendly, and though the watery "monsters" inside Willow can look a little a little angry they're probably not enough to freak out most younger readers. There are a few pages full of facts about the forest, which arise from Willow's conversation with Pilu. Nguyen's forest colors seem bound to inspire art along similar lines.

[thebard490]

Paladins: Order Undivided Chapter 15: Battle of the Turning Sword

            I am the Bard, who has seen each war since the First. Many were righteous, many more unrighteous. Few were great, all were terrible. So it has been and shall be. 

            Under the moonlight, the paladins rode, bearing word of coming doom. Under the moonlight, the halflings followed, and came by them to the first village. There, they did not rest, but labored intensely to make ready for a red dawn.

Despite their best efforts and the best of their infiltrator Jort, the paladins did not yet know just how mighty a blow the Legate had reached out to smite them with. That night, four decanum, and fifty Singulares prepared to march out at dawn. On their left flank were twenty soldiers, skilled and ruthless, led by the veteran Primus Pilus Scythia, and on their right twenty more, led by a Judas yet unknown. In the center, fifty goblins slavered for blood, the dancing madness of the jester and sorcerer Fimbiblius bringing them to a fervor. As the dawn bloomed across the blackest sky, the fading vineyard of dark ichor throbbed with expectation. It was a blood dawn, a red dawn, the dawn of a day for slaughter!

The thud of boots trampled, as four columns marched smartly down, the beat of drums keeping every soldier marching in time. The red morn glinted on their weapons and armor, some old yet well maintained, and others freshly forged of bronze that once rang proudly from a high tower, today the bell broken would ring out on dwarven steel!

Behind them the flat green feet of lesser goblins pattered infrequently, any stragglers finding the sharp crack of the whip and the snarl of a cursing overseer. While they might grovel and cower, their wicked hearts beat hotly, long tongues lick thin lips as rusted daggers and dented scimitars glinted in the glades. Today they would strike their hated foe, and tonight they would feast on their still warm flesh!

A stag lifted its head at the sound of the war beat and quickly rushed away, light hooves leaping gracefully through wooded fen to atop grassy knoll, the light of the moon and unnatural cleverness in its eyes. As it bounded it bugled out a warning, a planned signal that its lady would know.

Yndri meditated in the coming dawn, aside from the village, sat cross legged in a favored tree, lips speaking silent prayers to her gods. “Creator, grant me victory, Maeve, guide my arrows, Heavens, shield these little ones from the ravages of the dark gods.” When she heard the warning, her amethyst eyes opened. There was a sort of excitement to them, a momentary taste of the thrill of battle, to feel the blood of her foes upon her blades and charge once more in the name of her goddess. She rose and dropped from tree to shadow, and as she prepared to depart, she offered a silent, singular prayer to a goddess her mind no longer knew but her soul would always remember. “Watch over me again…”

“Watch over me once more, dark mother…”

Silver hair ran in dark shadow, blurring across the dawning day, back down into the village, a warning on her lips. “Arise! Arise halflings! Arise my comrades! Evil came upon us! A day for battle dawns!”

In the village, warriors roused themselves from their breakfasts and donned what armor they had, padded shirts and wooden shields swiftly sewn and hewn. Ancient weapons reborn and the blades that once so harshly oppressed came to hands as they assume their positions.

Already, their champions were arisen. Kazador and Senket left their tent and set their separate ways. He would go to the forest, to ride out again and break the enemy with his mighty hammer. She would remain, to rally the defenders and hold against the tide, an immovable anvil for the foe to break upon.

The bone hilts of Avoree laid warm in the hands of his champion. Peregrin, ancestor of Bolgar the Horserider, stood at the center of the trench line. He would not depart from his people, godless though they might be. Godless again stood the son of the heavens, with blade an echo of his father’s in his hands. Aside Kazador and War Pig he rested atop his mighty steed until the time came for the lord of conquest to ride forth and shatter the foe.

“Death.” Swore Jort. “Death.” Swore the loyal betrayer, death to his foes, death to those besides him, death to his false comrades, death for the sake of the one whom he still owed loyalty, even beyond the gates of hades.

Silver and red made a beautiful tragedy as the crimson light blossomed across the readied stand of Silverthorne. Strung and mighty was her shaven bow, and silver were her arrows. Readied were her favored blades, openly worn, for the boot was too far to risk now. By her stood the hunters, their deadliest prey coming unto them with slaughter in heart.

They could all hear the drums now, and all stand ready as the force stepped from the woods to the clearing. What they saw was hardly what had been expected. The green before them was cut bare, and before them stood a thin line of halflings, armed and armored best as they might, with weapons in hand and paladins at their head. Scylla paused, and looked at this in some confusion, and the legionaries murmured amongst themselves. They had expected perhaps an ambush, but certainly not open battle, or open war against the halflings themselves. But they saw among them the devil’s daughter and elven amazon, and were greatly confounded and enraged.

Scylla watched carefully. These were the self-same warriors who had contested them during their tribute expedition, and now they stood alongside the halflings. A glance informed her that these halflings were not merely the inhabitants of this village, but of several others. This was no mere resistance, it was open rebellion, headed by the hated elves. Forth she sent an emissary, and drew up her lines for battle.

“Halflings!” The emissary called. “His sovereignty, Imperator Legate Pompey, has sent us to offer you sanctuary in these times of trouble. Lay down your arms, and yield to us, and you and all yours shall be taken safely into Bloodstone Abbey for the duration of the crisis. Do not be deceived by elf or devil, for they are your enemies. They shall seek your enslavement, and bring ruin to your people.”

Then Jok, the leader of the halflings, answered him. “You say that they seek our enslavement, and you our protection, yet what have you done for us? You have come and only taken, and given naught in return. Our people have suffered much indeed before you, and now how much more with you? You come and would starve us, and take us from our homes, with all armies and savagery. But here stand these few who have fought for us, and asked nothing of us in return. How then can you say one is a slaver, and you protector? When insofar as any of us can see, you are no friends to liberty, but slavers, even enslaving yourselves. Therefore I bid you in turn, go out from the abbey, and depart from these lands, for we who dwell in them have grown sick of you!”

The emissary, being a soldier and not a diplomat, lost his temple. “Why you ungrateful little shit.” He drew his sword, as if to come across the plane of diplomacy and cut down the halfling where he stood.

A shaven bow sang, and in that song was the promise of a new age, an age without the terror of the conqueror, an age of peace and prosperity. Perhaps this was the promise that this song of rebellion brought, but it sounded the creaking of ancient and terrible gates. Henceforth peace departed, and blood came upon the land, for the gates of Janus were open, the dogs of Mars bayed havoc, for henceforth, there was only war.

Scythia watched as her emissary fell, an arrow in his throat. “So be it.” The bloody maid stated. “Let there be death!” She cried as she raised tall the banner of the goblin god and ordered forwards her force.

“DEATH!” She was answered, though not by her troops, but by the valorous small, a cry of defiance, of hatred, and of cold acceptance that today there would be no quarter. “DEATH!” again the halflings cried. For the briefest moment, even the hardened butcher gave pause at this most unusual sight, then she shook it free and donned her dragon helm as the legion advanced. The goblins came up the middle, with the hobgoblins on either end. It would be a tactic of envelopment, pinning the foe with the goblins in the center, and then striking from either flank to overwhelm and roll up their presumably less disciplined foe. Scylla commanded the left, Fim the center, Jort the right.

Jort headed his own flank, wearing no helm and marching forwards with no fear on his face, merely a hard-set determination. Behind him his men had long grumbled at their leader being naught but the eightieth before today, but even they saluted his courage. Now he stood along them the youngest officer, but noble in his countenance. Almost naturally, he stood at the head of his men, like a hero of the ancient republic, leading from the front among the other young men. The same could not be said for the goblins, who hesitated at first at the sight of even these slapdash defenses. The whips cracked and the jester urged them forwards. “Stab! kill! Stab! kill! All glory to me!” Henceforth they began to charge.

“Fire on the leftward arm! Give Senket and your comrades as much aid as you can!” Yndri shouted as she let fly into the oncoming wing of the retaliatory force. Silver slashed red as a soldier fell mid-charge and was stepped over by his brothers. The halfling archers followed suit, and the sun twinkled between the shadows of falling shafts. Shields were raised, protecting most of the force, but still some small shafts slipped through to wound. Blood spattered the grass.

Through the shower of projectiles, Scythia charged on. Clad head to toe in full plate, she was all but invulnerable to the halfling’s assault. Onwards she plunged with two at her left and two at her right into the halfling’s flank, hoping to break through there. From there they could circumnavigate the defenses and roll up the rebels with the other flank while the goblins held them in the middle. Doing so, they would crush the impudent midgets in jaws formed of sturdy hobgoblins.

The paladins, under the command of Julian, had prepared a strategy of their own. The halflings had dug out a hidden trench the night before, and filled it with sharpened stakes. Any charge against their lines, as might be expected to break them, would hit the trench and be slowed and wounded, leaving them easy prey for the halflings. Soon, the efficacy of this would be tested, as the line of goblins surged towards the thin line of the militia.

On the left, the jaws of defeat would find themselves broken upon the indomitable iron that was Chult’s rejected daughter. At the edge of the halfling line to counter any such oblique attack was Senket Zarathustra, the immovable knight of devotion. Gladius and Morningstar clashed, and shield locked against banner. Hoof and boot stepped forwards and dragon helm slammed into horned head. Eyeball to eyeball the two warrior women strained against one another.

 “So, the slaves think to sell their souls for freedom.” Scythia remarked before shoving back, forcing Senket to retreat and deflect two slashes so swift that they seemed as blurs. “I am afraid to inform you that those are not theirs to sell. The halflings belong to me and the horde, mind, body, and soul!” She declared before lashing out with the standard. It struck Sen in the face, bruising it.

The infernal paladin was undeterred and responded with her mace. While Scythia slipped the first blow, the second struck her armor, blunt force crunching it to leave a serious bruise of her own on her forearm. “They never have, and they never will!” She responded, clarion voice raising her challenge above the field of battle. 

The hobgoblins moved around them. On their left, a pair discovered the hidden trench by falling into it. The halflings were upon them in a moment, restored maces turning bloody again as they crunched through armor. Two more tried to go around, only to be denied by Senket’s striking shield and seeking mace, sending one to the floor and the other to the grave.

The goblins hit the trench and fell, only for their friends to step on their heads to get over. The halflings descended and met them. Physically they were almost evenly matched, likewise both sides had salvaged weapons and next to no armor. Despite this, it was no stalemate, not only did the trench grant the goodly folk an advantage, today is their day of retribution. What skill could not provide sheer fury would instead, as the hatred of the halflings left them unrecoiling from wounds, instead striking on through to deliver telling blows. Blood flowed deeply as superior numbers and superior morale strained against one another.

On the left, Jort moved more slowly, a careful advance behind the goblins with shields raised to avoid casualties from arrow fire. Seeing the trench, he began to lead his men around in a wide flank to circumvent it, and to isolate them from the rest of the army. He spied Peregrin opposite him, and Yndri in the center. That meant that the decisive firepower of Kazador and Julian were still unaccounted for. If he failed with this gambit, then the two of them would be able to swiftly fall upon his isolated unit. Once they were safely away, he called a halt and turned.

“Brethren.” he said calmly. “The halflings are correct.” The statement made the others around him take pause, and he stepped forwards, turning so that he might look his men eye to eye. “I have been in long consideration, regarding the approach of our current legate. It is wrong. I do not say this merely from my own personal distaste for the man, my bias is easily understood. But I say this, having seen a better way. Look to them now, see how courageously they fight, how many come together without the need of whips and blades. How is it that they have obtained this? It is because their cause is just, and justice in a manner that is clear to the hearts of all.”

“As for us? How are we outmatched in the strength of spirit by farmers, by those we once condemned as weak? Are we so diminished in spirit? Forever we have sought to restore the empire, but in doing so, we have diminished our hearts. We cling to old propaganda, and walk as only ghosts. Is this what it means to be hobgoblins, to murder those who refuse our protection? What are we protecting them from then, if not ourselves? Such hypocrisy. We said once we were the unifiers and protectors of the world, but now here are those unified without, nay, against us, and seeking protection from us. All that we have aspired to is forgotten now, for the ambition of a few men of blood and ruthless ambition. I shall not die for this, far less so kill for it. Come, my brothers, let us be done with this folly, and seek justice and righteousness once more, true justice, and true righteousness, and not the propaganda of emperors long past.”

The other hobgoblins stared at him like he’d gone completely and utterly mad. The younger ones, nearest to him, considered his words carefully, and looked honestly upon what was happening. Had they not after all been sent to protect these people, why then were they being fought against? It seemed like madness. But as for the elder hobgoblins, their stunned silence gave way to hardly quiet anger, and one of them stepped forth. “I see now that Pompey was indeed a fool.” He remarked, and gave Jort brief hope. “A fool to place such a coward and traitor as you in any manner of command. We rule, we lead, and the rest follow or die, that is how it has always been and must ever be. To turn against this is nothing short of treason to our entire race, and blasphemy before our god.”

Jort stood, weapons ready. “If this be treason, make the most of it.” And the triari came forth to indeed make the most of it. The eldest third of the unit pushed past the others, and moved on the younger hobgoblin. The one who spoke first rushed Jort, and their blades clashed against one another’s shields. Their weaponry and armor was equal, but Jort had the strength of youth, and his foe the wisdom of age. They pushed against one another briefly, before the older man gave ground, only to pivot and slash at Jort’s throat. Jort blocked, falling back. The elder pursued, and thrust his blade forwards at Jort’s sword-arm to disarm him. In the blink of an eye, Jort swapped his shield and sword to the opposite hands, and deflected the strike. His opponent had no time to process this unexpected ambidexterity before Jort retaliated and slashed open his throat.

Despite this swift victory, Jort swiftly had to fall back, giving ground before the oncoming forces. He was vastly outnumbered, but fortunately, he’d isolated himself from the rest of the army. About two thirds of his own unit were now trying to surround him and cut him down, but he moved swiftly, baiting them nearer to the halfling lines and keeping up a defense. He took a momentary advantage, and landed a lethal thrust again one of his purusers, but the blade became trapped. Another stepped in, and landed a cut across his arm, forcing him to drop his blade. With no weapon, they pressed in on him more confidently, landing blows on his armor that winded him and drove him further back, until one slammed their shield into his chest, throwing him to the ground.

Swiftly, they made to execute the fallen spy, and four blades fell for his throat. Then, in a flash, all four were turned aside. In another moment, four blades hit the ground, hands followed shortly thereafter. Peregrin had entered the fray! As the maimed hobgoblins fell back, trying in vain to stem the bleeding from their lost limbs, others pressed forwards. Peregrin danced into their midst, using his smaller size and the enemy’s advantage in numbers to his advantage. Amongst them, he used his own enemies as cover, preventing them from all swinging against him effectively. All the while, his own blades danced, each one fighting a different hobgoblin at once, covering the ground in blood as he struck for crucial tendons and joints, weak points in armor that left his foes falling to the ground crippled. As more turned to face him, they found themselves suddenly assaulted from behind, as Jort picked up a dropped sword, sans hand, and hacked into his former allies’ backs.

Then, just as the hobgoblins rallied, from the forests charged two mighty beasts, a great black steed like nightmare, the devil in its eyes and midnight in its coat. By its side was a great boar, with cold winter in its heart, from which the mortals quail, drawing together by hearths beneath totems of pine and tinsel. Astride them rode two champions, captains of man and dwarf. In one was a blade like a holy avenger, with the wings of an angel for the hilt, the voice of the divine was in his mouth, terror all about him. In the other silver axes gleamed in the hands of a dragon. Fire was in his heart and justice in his eyes. About him was clad dwarven steel of fine make, and at his voice the stones trembled from the craftsman’s tongue.

“Justice! Justice for the sons of Esther!” Kazador roared in the tongue of his true father as he fell upon their lines. Axes cleaved and the anvil rang out, followed by the thuds of corpses hitting the earth. War Pig bellowed, bane of Baratheon, tusks gored and bulk crushed. He smashed directly into the center of their formations, hewing about with utter ferocity.

“A breaking! An ending! And a new world from the ashes!” Julian roared in celestial as blades physical and phantom cleft the foe, who scattered before that beginning of wisdom, terror of the holy. The war horse whinnied, wrathful beyond its kin, hooves cleaving and trampling once more in wicked glee. “All who heed him, flee, for all who stand this day shall perish!” He declared, and unleashed a surge of his power and authority. Red light covered the battlefield, as he struck against the hearts and minds of his foes. Their movements slowed, becoming spasmatic, allowing him to easily unleash devastating blow upon devastating blow from horseback.

A shout went up from the halflings as they saw the right flank begin to fall, and the pressure relieved. Redoubling their attacks, the goblins looked ready to break already, such was their cowardice, but the whips drove them on. Seeing this, Yndri called upon her forces anew. “The whips! Fire on the whips!” She demanded, delivering two silver streaks to two faces, and two souls to Acheron. The hunters responded, and while they lacked her skill, numbers would suffice as several whips were turned to pincushions. The goblins wavered, and then pulled back at the jester’s cry. “Run! flee!” He ordered, and the cohort pulled back, a shade too controlled for a full rout.

The triumph beginning on the right had not seemed to reach the left though, as Hobgoblins swarmed Senket. Despite her impeccable defenses, attacks from every angle struck her. Scythia took advantage, lashing out with her gladius she rent through the coat of plates and cleft the paladin grievously, before striking her in the jaw with the standard, forcing her to a knee. “Down! I shall not be delayed by some infernal whore! Bend the knee and die already!” Her blade descended like an executioners, only to be stopped by a shield emblazoned with a burning sword.

“I am the heir of Arvidor, knight of the burning blade and servant of the high heavens.” Senket growled as she rose, forcing back the blade despite several wounds, her sanguine flesh soaked in blood, both hers and her enemies. “I shall not kneel, save before my lord at the end of my duty.” Her eyes flared, and she lashed out with her shield. Golden fire surged and Scythia screamed as the paladin flung her back. “AND ONLY IN DEATH DOES DUTY END!” Senket roared as she pushed on. Her morningstar became the blazing sun itself, rending plate and bone in radiant fire. Inspired by her courage, the halfling flank hurled itself at the hobgoblins. “DEATH!” they roared their terrible cry anew, forcing the hobs to turn their attention from Senket.

A wicked grin filled Fimbimbulus’s face as his jester bells jingled. “Now! KILL THE BOSSES!” He screamed with a mad laugh as he hurled a bolt of wild magic into the hobgoblins on the left. It slew one and jumped to another, burning her flesh in electricity and acid. The sadistic goblin laughed like a maniac at her dying screams. The goblins turned and fell upon the hobs with glee. Even Scythia stumbled as a goblin struck her heel.

“Treachery.” Scythia hissed as she lashed out at the goblins around her. With a single sweeping blow, she struck the heads from two, and then slew another pair before one dove under her attack to plunge a dagger into her heel. She turned and saw Senket’s mace descending. With her wounded leg she could not hope to evade, so she closed her eyes and braced for death, only to be surprised as Senket instead crushed the goblin, before flattening another and kicking a third into the mud.

“Wretched creatures! Do not defile this contest between warriors with your treachery!” She ordered the green skinned creatures back. Cowed by her fury, the goblins slunk to find other prey, joining with the others to destroy the remaining hobgoblins. Scythia looked at Senket confused before the latter reached out and caught her arm as it pulled away. A light touch of healing magic flowed between the two and mended the Pilus’s heel, before Senket let go and stepped back, readying herself again.

For a moment the two warriors look at one another. “Why?” Scythia asked finally.

“You face me as an equal, and while you yourself might welcome outside interference, my honor demands that I face you honestly.” Senket responded.

Scythia looked at her, and in spite of herself, smiled. “Honor? A thing I thought long dead. I had thought to capture you and see you brought low for your defiance, but in light of such a rare treasure, I shall merely slay you. I would have your name though, that I might remember our contest.”

“I am Senket Zarathustra, and I would have yours to remember you by.”

“I am Scythia, Pilus of Pompey’s Legion. It was a privilege to face you. Go swiftly to your gods without disgrace.”

“And you also, to the glory of Acheron.”

For a moment, the two warriors, each badly wounded to near death, prepared, each knowing that the next wound they received would be their last. Even among the chaos and butchery, there was a peace. Then boot ground and stepped, hoof leapt, and trails of scarlet flowed behind twin blurs of steel-orange and burgundy. There was a ringing, and then a sound like breaking glass, as Senket not only blocked Scythia’s blow, but shattered her blade altogether. In the instant before her death, Scythia closed her eyes at total peace, before morningstar and golden fire blasted her head from her shoulders and her body to ashes, leaving only a faintly glowing and slightly mangled suit of armor. The banner of the legion fell, and broke in two, the blood of its soldiers drowning the red hand of the goblin god in a sea of untraceable stains on the once white cloth.

Yndri observed the turning tides, and furthermore the cruelty of the jester. It was then that she decided that such a creature would not be allowed to live, and advanced, firing two arrows at the mage that caught his attention and sent him scrambling before the pale slayer. As the jester Fimbimbulus scrambled away from another silver arrowhead, he turned to Yndri with hate in every fiber of his being. “This is not over elf-thing!” He hissed before he vanished into invisibility and ran into the woods.

Between the goblins and halflings, the remaining hobgoblins were butchered. They neither asked nor gave any quarter, save those few who had heeded Jort’s words, and fled into the woods. The paladins pulled back and focused on healing the wounded, but Senket refused to be healed until all others were cared for. When it was all said and done, they had no spells left to heal, so Senket finally allowed herself to fall unconscious and be carried inside.

In the aftermath of the battle, it was found that twelve halflings and thirty goblins had died, along with all the hobgoblins. Without any leader, the goblins agreed to aid Jort in defeating the Legate on the provision that they would be allowed to live in the abbey afterwards, which Kazador agreed to after much grumbling. They had to go to Sen’s bedside to talk with him, as he, along with Yndri, refused to leave. After Sen finally regained consciousness and was healed, they finally set out to recover the weapons. The slaughter was such that all could be armed twice over.

Kazador on the other hand vanished again, having last been seen carrying Scythia’s suit of plate armor. After some searching, they found him back at the chapel repairing it before he ordered Yndri, who found him, to go and get Sen.

”Lass, if yer planning on continuing tae do such daft things as fight off an entire enemy army’s flank by yerself, yer gonna need better armor and ye and that goblins woman are about the same size.” He insisted. “Besides, you’ll freeze in that southern gear.”

Senket was somewhat uncomfortable to change her gear but agreed. After another day and night of constant work, Kazador had refitted the armor to fit the Tiefling. During this, Julian prepared new plans for assault, Yndri and Peregrin trained their troops, and within the bloodstone abbey, Pompey sat upon his throne, one eye pouring over the maps of his defenses. So, the traitor had shown his true colors, and had paladins to boot, one of whom had even slain his beloved Scythia. It was inevitable that they would attack his abbey. Let them come. He would be ready.