This past weekend was spent at our local Scottish-Irish festival. This is one of--or the--largest festival of this type in the country, and my husband and I went for the whole weekend, because we're fairly active with our respective clans and like to go all out at this sort of thing.
During some downtime on Sunday, I got out my current read--Connie Willis's To Say Nothing of the Dog (time travel, on the humorous side)--and had just settled in when someone wandered by and asked what I was reading.
Way back in June, I told you about my new adventures in gardening -- last year we tried vegetables, this year we decided to add flowers. Here's how it went...
Last year, our yard was 1/6 vegetables and, ahem, 5/6 weeds. This year we finally sprang for landscaping -- nothing fancy, just grass and three plots, one for vegetables (about the same size as last year's) and two for decorative vegetation. Having grass instead of weeds made the yard look fabulous even before we started planting stuff.
Then we populated our vegetable garden and flower beds, and sat back to see what would grow.
Once wild magic shattered human civilization. Mage-built cities collapsed, spell-sped galleons sank, airships fell from the skies. Magic-born chimerae turned on their creators, and then their neighbors. The peoples of Awrhee fell into barbarism.
But that was generations ago. Humanity has scraped together kingdoms again, and learned to live without magic. Those who practice spellcraft are eyed with suspicion, as are the old ways, and the old places.
Some, however, seek treasure in the ruins of what was. Knowledge, gold, power—it’s out there. Treasure untold for anyone clever enough to find it, bold enough to take it, fast enough to get away with it.
It’s out there, in the Spell-Wracked Lands.
Flame Isfree and the Feather of Fate II
A Serial Story by KD Sarge
Flame heard the footsteps approaching in her sleep, but she knew them and also she was warm and cozy, so she only wandered towards consciousness. Then she heard the sword ring as it was drawn.
With her leather-clad arm Flame knocked the sword-point away from Ryahled's throat as he lay blinking at the silhouette over them. Idiot Bran! Thank Luck she'd drugged Ryahled last night when he wouldn't stop talking. Had she not, Bran would be dead and Tolor furious.
Idiot ranger had needed to sleep, not talk.
“What the hell is this?” Bran demanded, the sword blade coming back.