Home of Wes Platt and OtherSpace MUSH
The scaled hand drew back the pale yellow sheet, revealing a gaunt olive-skinned face framed by loose-hanging silver hair. “Yes. That’s him. Odalath. Emissary of the Order of Mystics on Val Shohob.” Balthazar didn’t weep for his son. He shed no tears. That time had passed. He looked toward the Zangali coroner and asked, “Did…
“Where is it?” The pasty-skinned Light Singer sounded friendly enough as he loomed over the grayish-brown furred Lotorian chained against the rough stone column. Nothing friendly about that crimson aura, though. Or the eyes. Cold. Icy blue, like the frozen B’hira wastes. Zoznazz tried avoiding the eyes, staring toward the broad maw of the planetoid’s…