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Jackson Taylor's Blackspire: Dead Walk - FIRST LOOK!!
Chapter 1: Dead Walk
The dimly lit tavern buzzed with a symphony of clinking glasses, boisterous laughter, and the rhythmic strumming of a lute. In the heart of this lively scene sat Eden, a 19-year-old enigma with quizzical blonde hair and a knack for forgetting even the most important things. His suit, once crisp and tailored, now bore the wrinkles of a day spent lost in thought.
Eden was short a Dead Walk, a peculiar tradition in his world where individuals embarked on solo journeys into the unknown, their paths etched in the very fabric of reality!
Dead. Drunk.
These walks were not mere strolls; they were tests of courage, resilience, and the ability to navigate the ever-shifting landscapes of fate.
Most who undertook Dead Walks were driven by ambition or a thirst for adventure. Eden, however, was different. He was a reluctant hero, thrust into the role by circumstances beyond his control. Eden just needed a drink most nights. Other nights, he needed the exercise.
His forgetfulness, often a source of amusement and exasperation, had a peculiar side effect: when he walked, his footprints became legends, guiding others through treacherous terrains and uncharted territories.
Despite his reluctance, Eden possessed a charisma that drew people to him like moths to a flame. With a raised eyebrow and the suggestion of a pint, he could make anyone believe in anything. This, he knew, would be his greatest asset on this Dead Walk, for he would need to gather investors, individuals with grand plans and deep pockets, to fuel his rise in the world.
As he nursed his ale, Eden's thoughts drifted to his recent encounter with Eve, his girlfriend, and her mother. The day had been filled with laughter and awkward silences, a reminder of the life he was leaving behind. He yearned for normalcy, for a life free from the burden of expectations and the weight of his forgotten past. For at least an hour or so.
He’d be home to Eve in the morning.
Suddenly, a hush fell over the tavern. A figure emerged from the shadows, cloaked in darkness, its eyes glowing with an infernal light. It was the Devil, a being of pure evil, its presence sending shivers down the...
The dimly lit tavern buzzed with a symphony of clinking glasses, boisterous laughter, and the rhythmic strumming of a lute. In the heart of this lively scene sat Eden, a 19-year-old enigma with quizzical blonde hair and a knack for forgetting even the most important things. His suit, once crisp and tailored, now bore the wrinkles of a day spent lost in thought.
Eden was short a Dead Walk, a peculiar tradition in his world where individuals embarked on solo journeys into the unknown, their paths etched in the very fabric of reality!
Dead. Drunk.
These walks were not mere strolls; they were tests of courage, resilience, and the ability to navigate the ever-shifting landscapes of fate.
Most who undertook Dead Walks were driven by ambition or a thirst for adventure. Eden, however, was different. He was a reluctant hero, thrust into the role by circumstances beyond his control. Eden just needed a drink most nights. Other nights, he needed the exercise.
His forgetfulness, often a source of amusement and exasperation, had a peculiar side effect: when he walked, his footprints became legends, guiding others through treacherous terrains and uncharted territories.
Despite his reluctance, Eden possessed a charisma that drew people to him like moths to a flame. With a raised eyebrow and the suggestion of a pint, he could make anyone believe in anything. This, he knew, would be his greatest asset on this Dead Walk, for he would need to gather investors, individuals with grand plans and deep pockets, to fuel his rise in the world.
As he nursed his ale, Eden's thoughts drifted to his recent encounter with Eve, his girlfriend, and her mother. The day had been filled with laughter and awkward silences, a reminder of the life he was leaving behind. He yearned for normalcy, for a life free from the burden of expectations and the weight of his forgotten past. For at least an hour or so.
He’d be home to Eve in the morning.
Suddenly, a hush fell over the tavern. A figure emerged from the shadows, cloaked in darkness, its eyes glowing with an infernal light. It was the Devil, a being of pure evil, its presence sending shivers down the...
