Fantasy · Table-top Game


Brannagh ran her hand over her son’s hair again, shaking. He was still asleep, feverish, sweating…and unable to wake up. Thomas seemed to have succumbed to the same troubles she had heard rumors about.

Tears welled in her eyes again, and only the soft sound of movement from the doorway gave her reason to look up.

Puck stood there, uncertain what form he wanted to be. Teenaged, to comfort her? War form, to protect? Amadan Dubh to punish whomever made her cry and hurt his family? In his arms, awake, was their baby.

She started crying again, shoulders hunched weakly. Thomas had just accepted Puck as his Papa…their little family was complete…and now…and now.

Something within the bard snapped. Ignoring the trails down her cheeks, she scrubbed her face and stood. “Puck…I need my drum.”

He blinked, startled just long enough to stay one form for a moment. The gawky man stared at his wife. “Brannagh?”

He had never heard venom from her voice before. Not like this. Not ever enough to make him shift all the way to his darkest form for a moment, before the flickering forms started again.

“It hurt my family. I will make it pay!


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