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The Adventures of Larson and Garrett - Garrett's Tale By AaronDennis Characters: 5379

Updated: 2017-12-29 12:03

The jingling of coins was followed by female laughter. Garrett was roused enough to peek through half-closed eyelids. He saw them pull the little skull from his travel pack, but they tossed it aside, fiddled with his gear, and finally satisfied that they had taken all there was to take—about five silver pieces and some coppers—they put everything back and left. The fencer was too tired to care about pocket change. With a deep breath, he rolled over, covered himself, and went back to sleep.


Garrett awoke to find himself in a reddish glare. He squinted and tried to block his eyes with his hand, but the light was emanating from origins unknown. After a moment, his eyes adjusted. Scrutinizing the environment in a mix of curiosity and confusion, he noted that he was standing on a barren, brown plateau. Bare rock graced the horizon. Where ever he was, he certainly wasn't in his room at the Finagling Frog.

Turning in a full circle, he saw only valleys, peaks, and plateaus, all of the same dark, brown stone. Taking some cautious steps, he looked up. Blood red clouds swam overhead. A yelp of fright escaped his lips when something nabbed his shoulder from behind. He spun and nearly fell onto his seat. A wispy figure of red gossamer stood before him—nearing ten feet tall—a malevolent smile played on the daemon's lips. Horns grew from its head, and black, beady eyes glared at him; it was a wiry, nude creature, with lanky arms and legs.

"Warrior, " the figure breathed.

"What, what are you?"

"Lagos…God of Destruction."

"What do you want, devil?" Garrett choked; his eyes wide

ut. The droopy man rubbed his baggy eyes and squinted.

"Come in, come in, " the old man greeted as he motioned with his hand.

"Thank you." Garrett walked past the priest, who was struggling with the wooden bar used to hold the doors closed. Once the old man was finished securing the entrance, the fencer smiled politely. "Why are you locked?"

"I'm sorry, " the priest mumbled and adjusted his gray robes; they appeared too large for his diminutive frame. He then exhaled as though the struggle with the bar had been too much. "We haven't had visitors in a long time…I saw no reason to keep the doors of Akalabash open, but tell me, young man, what is it you seek?"

Garrett glanced at the surroundings. The temple was quite austere; a scant few candles on tarnished holders wavered erratically. The tapestries of the great God of War were in tatters, and rat feces was scattered about.

"I'm looking for information on Lagos, " Garrett finally said.

"Mm?" The old priest placed a hand behind his ear and cupped it to aid his hearing. "Lagos, did you say?"

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