Recent content by Corda & Cordan LeConte

Corda leaned into the hug, so warm and paternal - and she broke. Her sobs wracked her frame as she released all of the grief and guilt she'd carried into an embrace she'd never known, that of a male who accepted her without reservation or condition. Eventually her sobs settled into soft mews...

Being compared to a termite shouldn't feel cathartic, and yet, inexplicably, as the hedgehog spoke, Corda felt the tears begin to flow freely. Somehow what the soothsayer said was enough to soothe the guilt within her, uncapping the grief she'd carried, bottled tight within her chest, for years...

Corda kept her knees close to her chest, trying to make herself small - a typical response to her father's anger, minimizing the space she took up. Even now, she realized, the fear of him was enough to make her cower. The seer was correct, though: she had survived him, and he was gone. She was...

Corda took a deep breath, her anxiety spiking at the question. That entire night had a sense of unreality about it; she still couldn't trust what was the tale told by Cordan, what was filled in by her imagination, and what might be unvarnished truth. "He was so angry," Corda recalled quietly...

Corda took a deep breath, worrying the brim of the hat with her pawfingers. There was always a small period of disorientation when she woke up, a time when the world around her did not seem real, when her body didn't feel like her own. It was unnerving, going through it in front of a stranger...

Cordan's eyes narrowed, his brows furrowing has he tried to process the mystic's instructions. What had he to fear from the shade of his father? The beast was dead, his heart impaled on the LeConte family's heirloom rapier. Surely Cordan had nothing to- Memory flashed through him. His sister...

Cordan leaned in, watching the liquid being dropped and poured. The scent of it was bitter, the wine going a touch stale. Truly, it seemed like the kind of potion a mysterious soothsayer would pour for a vision-quest. Still, the promise lingered, the offer of finding the foul shade of his father...

Cordan started at the invocation of that name. His hand went to his side, reaching for a rapier that wasn't there. "That foul cur," he spat, righteous indignation in every sound. "He was not content to abuse, degrade, and terrorize my sister in life, but now his shade persists from beyond the...

Cordan kept his chin raised, obscuring any signs of fear. Heroes didn't feel fear except for reasonable caution. Fear was weakness, and he couldn't be weak, not when Corda was relying on him. "I fear no spirits, ferryman," he declared. "Carry us straight through the Hellgates themselves to the...

Cordan raised his chin, intent on showing his bravery in the face of the supernatural. It was rare that an adventurer such as himself faced down such; usually that was the domain of ancient epics, not modern pulp fiction, but he could bridge genres for a night. "Lead the way then, shepherd of...

Corda clutched the hat and cloak a little nervously, nodding and bobbing her head in meek acknowledgement of the hedgehog's instructions. "Thank you," she whispered. "I... I will go and fetch him." Keeping her head bowed, she slipped from the cart, then fished four gliders from her pouch and...

Corda listened to the selection of draughts carefully, considering her remaining coin. She didn't have much; she'd been able to afford a small room at the Bilge near here, and had been wandering aimlessly in the night, searching for either divine inspiration or a 'help wanted' advertisement...

Corda took a deep breath, clutching her skirts in her paws. She focused on the texture of the fabric, the feel of the wooden boards beneath her footpaws, the scent of candles and incense burning, some indeterminate hum that seemed to come from everywhere and nowhere in the cart. When she felt...

Corda leaned in as the soothsayer spoke, peering into the orb. She seemed transfixed, letting his words washing over her, her eyes caught by the shifting hues within the glass. As his words suggested it, she could see him in the glass: her father, hate in his eyes and spittle flying from his...

Corda was quiet as she weighed that prospect. What would life without Cordan be like? She'd been with him so long, had him there to fight her battles... Her mind flashed to her father's face, the smell of whisky on his breath and hate in his eyes. She shuddered, knowing what her answer is in...