Nimsel

Baron Vladimir Harkonnen was watching as his niece from Abulurd's side is training on the arena with a teacher he recently hired. He was sure that the girl will kill this one too, as she did with the previous ones. Of course new teachers didn't know what happened with others, which was making the game far more juicy. Now he was waiting for the play with raising amusement. Nimsel Harkonnen was holding short dagger in one hand and long one in another. She was dancing around the teacher from one of various schools that recently appeared on the neighbour planets and which were targeted to children of noble houses. Baron didn't want to hire Sword

She looked into his eyes. True, this was look full of cynicism, however, had something strangely gentle, what the casual observer probably would have taken for sensitivity. "No." It was the only word she spoke, but in her mouth had the strength of sword and fire. Rah'nam lowered his eyes. They were sitting in a crowded tavern, one of many in the big - and as the story goes, and what is rather untrue - a wonderful city of Hak'Samath. True, it was not a lot of drow as city was located on the surface and was open to all, but Szahitra not specifically stood out among the guests. Her obsidian black skin glistened slightly in the dark and light

The old temple of ancient god Set was in almost complete ruin. Once the god resided here with his maidens and priestesses but now only the desert wind was playing with the walls and making the strange, cry-like sounds. On the ruined and cracked floor, on one of the broken columns was seating young red-haired man in white robes and black leather trousers with a lot of chains. He had this malicious smile on face that was the sign he had something...well, malicious on his mind. On the ground was kneeling young woman; she was crying. "Say my name" the man said it with amusement in his voice. The woman stopped crying for a second and looked with

"Help me ... Help ... get her away ... it ..." Silence. Only sounds of spring night; the wind, lightly buzzing insect, very quiet, barely perceptible sound of the footsteps of a small animal in the grass covered with frost, neighborhood dog's bark, who was alarmed by something. But it were the natural sounds of the evening life, which is not quite asleep. In addition, the deep silence enveloped the small town named Hole Valley, which 300 years ago, a boor named a hole. Now, however, the name didn't fit here because the city has grown and modernized, and although it certainly was not like Los Angeles or Miami, it  was not a village. Neither h