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.
My first collection, comprised of the following short stories and some artwork, centred around an unsanctioned dwarven laboratory off the coast of Ireland.
- A Nightmare
- Interception of An Enciphered Message From Orc-held Territory
- Big Head Mode Is Not Conducive To Effective Scouting
- Infiltration
- Board Report
- Fomoritis Confirmed
- Fomorians in Their Own Words: “Mstr D”
- The Dwarven Inquisition Are Expected
Or get it from…
Aceade's Tales 