She couldn’t move. Her heart pounded in time with the squeak of the trolley wheels as she struggled futilely against the straps that dug into her limbs and chest. The sharp smell of antiseptic assaulted her nostrils, growing ever stronger, and stronger, and- “Feisty bitch, ain’t she?” somebody remarked. Her head twisted upwards and to the right, eyes locking onto the dwarf who leered at her, exposing teeth that were stained from smoking tea. Emblazoned on his right chest was that logo – that rounded vertical rectangle around those three letters.
An unsanctioned dwarven laboratory off the coast of Co. Galway attempts to discover the origins of the Fomorians. My first collection, comprised of 8 short stories and some artwork.
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Aceade's Tales 