Some more, slightly boring I'm afraid. And new, may have to correct some of it. Mostly mine ideas, but as far as I know, correct. And although there is a lot more to be said about the physics, behind physics, we won't, for now. And if you're one of those thinking of 'time' in terms of thermodynamics, I do expect a mail in where you ever so patiently explain where I go wrong questioning those ideas :)

Anyway, it's kind'a for the 'hardcore SF fan' probably.
Or those interested in 'time'.

Anyway.
Bear with me.

“Rana... He’s toying with you...” In spite of the noise of the dead girl’s screams and the chaos of the fight, Greta’s raspy, sick-sounding voice rang clear in Rana’s ears. She couldn’t see very well, with her eyes teared up from the pain and shock of the blow to her face, but from her voice Rana was sure Greta was barely clinging to life.

“We need something better,” she said. “We need to make a good impression, as a pair of fine ladies — ”

“What?” he exclaimed.

“I'll explain in a little bit; I've figured out how to disguise you when we meet Psavian and Tsavila.”

An even shorter continuance.
So that we can move on.

I'm sorry, this one is very short.
It will get better, given some time.

But it's at least getting, somewhere?
ahem.

ahem.
Let us test the waters.

And no, just wrote it so it can be better, well, hopefully so?
And don't you laugh.

Background mostly, we all need to see where they come from, don't we :)
(Especially me.)

A preliminary, unchecked chapter.
Don't expect too much from it.

Don't know what you think.
Too contrived?

(and short too:)

* This is a tentative continuance, no guarantees.
All because vanity calls.

I hope you won't be too disappointed.
We'll see if it works, or not.

==

.

There’s a mountain, and no, I’m not speaking of one of those thin ones, those fashionably slim, elegantly cutting through the air. You know, the ones that all mountaineers so dearly love.

Sorry, I know it's a short one.
And yeah, I'm glad some enjoyed it.
It's, as always, a pleasure writing for you.

(And a slight update)

Wine Can't be Pressed into Grapes

by Trismegistus Shandy

Part 1 of 22

The man had evidently been traveling on foot for a long time. His clothes were rags that barely covered his nakedness, and his cheekbones, ribs, and hips stood out against flesh from which all the fat and too much of the muscle had been burned off some time ago.

A story about two boys on a drug fueled adventure, pretty much.

(DON'T do drugs, and DON'T read this if you're under 18)

“Beria--dan--wen” she slowly spoke, the dagger almost seem to speak to her it name as her mind translated the elven runes. “Beriadanwen”

She felt her legs turning to lead and her side ache as if pierced by a sharp knife. She knew her limit had been reached but kept going anyway. Even so it surprised her when the ground jumped up and hit her in the face.

 
Prince Henry Wynter was the Heir to the High Throne of the Heptarchy and prophesised to one day lead his people to unparalleled greatness. Twenty two years after he abandoned his destiny and his throne for the chance to be the person he felt he was meant to be, he finds that Fate has not yet finished with him. The events surrounding the proposed appointment of a new Heir to the High Throne have consequences that reach as far the remote farmstead refuge of the former prince and threaten to destroy the new life that she has built for herself.

Slurping back the tea Rall stared at the sword. “We need to talk I think.”