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Fangs in the Moonlight
A Conan Yarn by James Anderson
© 2024 James LaFond
JAN/4/24
Here you go James, hope you enjoyed it and are staying warm.
-James Anderson

Conan is young, in his early thirties, and fighting to make a name for himself among the kingdoms of the Western Sea. He has found himself wandering Koth after brief stints with different mercenary bands. He slew his last captain for withholding pay and absconded with the meager gold they had looted. Now nearly penniless, having spent most of the gold on ale, he hears rumors of someone offering lucrative pay for mysterious work in an isolated town. Necessity brings him to the foothills of the Flaming Mountains…
A moonless night. The autumn air bit like a knife. Conan’s breath shrouded his head with every exhale. He was alone in the streets except for a few practitioners of the night-trades on the way to ply their craft. They gave Conan a wide berth as they skulked past. Conan pulled his cloak closer about him and strode forward down the star-lit street, a thin mist clinging to the earth.
“Why would they insist on meeting at night?” He scowled at the thought, glancing about himself as he walked, “The pay had better be as promised”.
He came to a castle on the edges of town, stately but in disrepair, and by all appearances abandoned. The gate hung limp on its hinges and no light came from within the keep. The garden was wild and unkempt, a thick blanket of leaves carpeting the path to the door. The hairs stood up on Conan’s mighty neck.
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