The Pyromancer
The parose snorted, a pair of thin steam plumes streaming backwards along its razor beak. Mud splashed upward with each heavy footfall, splattering against and staining the biped’s feathered thighs and Corwyn’s thick leather boots. The pyromancer’s amber cloak billowed in the wind, his good hand clutching tight the parose’s reins, his offhand thumbing the cork of a bottle of ghost’s flame that was hooked to his hip. Emerald light shone dimly through the thick translucent glass. Steady , thought Corwyn, steady now. Not ‘til we’re near enough for the charge to count. “ Bounty spotted,” the parose cawed in its imitation man voice, “bounty spotted!” It chirped out a flurry of upbeat notes and repeated its mantra over again; “Bounty spotted!” Corwyn responded with a sharp whistle and a gentle tug on the parose’s reins, guiding it off to the shoulder of the wending forest path. Rain fell perpetually from the thick foliage overhead, and only the flameflies and a sparse scattering of a...