the smuggler’s bible


Helle puts her robe on the hook by the door and runs her hands across the leather strop hanging from the knob to discharge the last crackling sparks of energy.

“Rough day?”

“Gnolls broke the barrier on the reservoir. There was feedback. Discharge.” She wipes a palm across her cheek. “Blood.”

Cool hands lead her to a chair, drape a blanket over her.

“Once that barbarian comes back with your spell, the grunt shit will end.”

“That idiot?” Helle sighs and watches the moisture in her breath fog and dance slowly in front of the fire. “He’s probably dead already.”