The club was dark and somehow misty. The only illumination was magical lights pulsing in a variety of colours. The mist wrapped around Milly and Anjanette’s feet as they made their way to the bar. Anjanette was dressed in her best bar-hopping outfit, a black leather dream that clung tightly to her body. Milly didn’t have a best clubbing outfit, but she had at least been persuaded to leave her cloak at the inn.
They took a seat at the bar. Milly slouched in her seat, her face hiding in her ratty black hair. “Get me some dwarven lager,” ordered Anjanette. The bartender, a burly bored-looking man, plopped down a frothing mug of spirits. Anjanette took a ravenous gulp out of it.
“Aren’t you gonna order a drink, Milly?” she asked.
“Um, I don’t really drink,” Milly said.
“Bullcrap. Get my girl here some ale too.” The bartender shrugged and gave Mily a mug. She demurely took a sip, forcing down the bitter brew. She didn’t want to seem like a kid, after all. This was perfectly normal.
Anjanette pointed to a set of guys sitting at the other end of the bar. The usual young-warrior types, with short haircuts and cocky swaggers. Trying to differentiate between them was like a spot-the-difference game one might give to a child, if one were being particularly cruel.
“What do you think of those guys?” Anjanette asked.
“Um? Well, I haven’t met them...” Milly said.
“On a scale of one to ten.”
“Oh jeez, I don’t know... I don’t really have the right, I think. Everyone has their own tastes and there’s more than meets the eye, of course...”
“One. To. Ten.”
“Um... a seven?” Milly said.
“I’d say a six,” said Anjanette, taking a swig of her ale. “I’m just trying to figure out your taste in guys, Milly.”
Milly blushed. “Um... I guess I’d like a hero. You know, like in the stories.”
Anjanette snorted. “If you’re waiting for a hero, girl, you’ll be waiting a long time.”
They weren’t there long before a man sat down beside Anjanette. He was big and burly, and took great measures to flaunt it. He spoke in native Kendran, an ugly language that flowed in stops and starts.
“Nn hanaketat Kendrant,” said Anjantte, the only Kendran phrase she knew.
The man paused, obviously recalling dusty memories of elementary-school Imperial lessons. “Buy drink to you?”
“Knock yourself out,” Anjanette said offhand. And so it began.
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What Is This?
Hi, welcome to Crooked Swords! This is my serialized fantasy webnovel, updating Wednesdays and Saturdays (and sometimes there's an extra on Mondays). It's the story of two conmen and a battle librarian who find themselves on a quest for gold, guys, and glory. Or to be more specific, a set of ancient magical tomes. But that's just the details.
If you're new here, you should probably start at the beginning. Come on, give it a shot. You might waste time, but at least you won't waste money.
If you like the story and want to contribute, leaving a small donation via the tip jar or just clicking on the ads would be greatly appreciated.
Table of Contents
This work is licensed under a Creative Commons Licence.
If you're new here, you should probably start at the beginning. Come on, give it a shot. You might waste time, but at least you won't waste money.
If you like the story and want to contribute, leaving a small donation via the tip jar or just clicking on the ads would be greatly appreciated.
Table of Contents
This work is licensed under a Creative Commons Licence.
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