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Weekly Contest #277
Bill “Blaster” Benson felt the sizzling heat of the sun beat down on his weathered skin as he rode along the sun bleached, lonesome desert road. For three long years ol Bill had been riding westward to the Under, chasing shadows with nothing to show for it. Bill pulled on his horse’s reins, bringing her to a stop. His eyes scanned around, but only the barren wastes, stretched far beyond an eye can see. The horrid scents of caracases long forgotten baking in the desert punched his nostrils. Woke poor Bill right up. Globs of sweat dripped down...
"Sit down, you knife-eared freak!" shouted a pockmarked man who stood behind Tomea, a sword held at his neck. The elvish man was being pinned down by at least two other men, their cold metallic gauntlets digging into his shoulders. "So which one of you stole the food from the Devenals?" The pockmarked man pushed the sword slightly into his neck, just enough to be able to feel pain from it but not enough to be able to be cut. "How many more times must I explain myself, I was going home from fishing, my home is nowhere near their home. Captain...
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