It's the last day of 2021 (as of writing on my timezone).
I was trembling when we docked at Feshural. This trip couldn't end well.
getting it right meant carefully preparing it with my trusty dictionary in hand. Even if it was at night when everyone else was sleeping and the only light I had came from the crescent moon.
Shiro grumbled somewhere on the ship when we docked after nightfall and let a hooded stranger in.
Yeah, I wouldn't recommend it either, even for an immortal," I remarked as Kuro grumbled next to me.
"What does even make those art supplies so special, aside from being taken from a crypt and some creeps cursing you over getting it?" one of the twins, Hif, asked.
"What's up with him?" Tymon asked. "A curse," the man explained. "Was retrieving this," he gestured to the coffer he had brought, "from a crypt when some creeps attacked me from behind. Been dripping this sludge since then."
I walked to Myrial's quarters to report that the ship was functioning and ready to depart. However, when I got there, I noticed my captain looking at old photos I had seen only once before: photos of the old crew, Heyiadl just like Myrial.
y parrots and I — and, frankly, the rest of the crew too — watched as Myrial and the twins returned without Ingolf.
I roared as someone — two someones — tore me away from the fucker, who was now lying on the deck looking like he had not seen me coming. Maybe the fucker hadn't; he had so little concern for other people, that asshat.