The nice thing about being a freelance sorcerysoft designer was that you could work anywhere... including the end of the universe.
The apartment had been too cramped and the park had been too bright and the beach had been too distracting. Thus, Mikael was here. In the bar. Still stuck.
"If this stupid bastard wasn't stuck on using Elder
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"The Elder futhark. As opposed to the Younger or Scandinavian futhark which has a larger set of base runes."
...most kids out of high school knew that much.
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"Yes."
As if he'd just asked if two plus two could possibly equal four.
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His Elvish is a little rusty.
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"Where do you live then? The moon? Or are you in one of those backwater areas still using the Theban alphabet?"
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"Well, yes," he says, "we use that one too, for writing and such, but spellwork goes horribly in Roman lettering. Too mundane."
He quirks an eyebrow.
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"Really? You look like an ember whos been in the water too long," he says thoughtfully. "Or one of the dead, if you don't mind saying, though thankfully you lack the smell for it."
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"Not dead yet, no. The skin's just a mutation thing."
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"Mutation thing?"
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"Not quite human? Which alignments are you then?"
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"Fire? Water? Air? Earth? I've never met a Light or a Darkness-alignment, but I'm not one of those idiots who tries to say they don't exist."
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