Fennixx

Hot Gardack Nights

A mosquito zipped and buzzed about the mammothskin tent, bumping up futilely against the soot covered ceiling searching for an escape.  Neverlin sighed, dabbing the moister from his forehead with a silk napkin and sunk deeper into an arrangement of satin pillows.  Even in the late evening the sticky hot weather was intolerable, and he was sweating like a virgin in the Pyramid of Ancients.  A pile of searing red coals in the center of the tent certainly didn’t help matters either. The mosquito dove towards him suddenly, perilously close, but still just out of the Necromancer’s grasp. With a blink, Neverlin snuffed the life force out of the tiny insect and watched it spiral downward onto the smoldering coals, incinerating it with a faint sizzle.

He really hated the swamps.