Skye is the Limit by Phenomenal Pen (best ebook reader ubuntu .TXT) 📖

“Can we also throw a tantrum when we don’t get what we want?” the Count joked in an attempt to lighten the mood and throw off the hot spotlight trained on him.

“If necessary,” Mage said. “Remember: This is not the surface world. Here there are no compromises or settling for less. You must learn to crave and demand like a king, not like a white-collar. In the land of darkness…”

“The blind man is king?” Nethril offered, thinking about all the Orcs waiting for them underground.

“No,” Mage said, “in the land of darkness, imagination is king.”

“That’s really good pep talk,” the Count said. “It really is. Don’t get me wrong. But what happens when our night vision breaks down in the middle of a fight? I don’t think I can keep my concentration for more than half an hour straight. I’m sometimes ADD that way.”

“That is a valid question, Count. But there is no need for such concern because your night vision is linked to your fear. You will have constant use of it because of your fear of the dark.”

“Linked to our fear?” Man-At-Arms asked. “But I thought we weren’t supposed to harness fear because it’s black magick or something. What about the Foretelling of the Two Wolves?”  

Man-At-Arms’ brow knit because he was puzzled where and when he had come across the prophecy.

“Fear is useful because it is a byproduct of your imagination. It is also one of the strongest forces here inside SKYE. It is raw, primal, and man’s oldest ally in his quest for survival. You can no more do away with your fear than you can rid yourself of your own shadow. Mages like myself do not know fear and this is one of our flaws. Man’s need for self-preservation is a boon, not a bane. Indeed, the best players in SKYE shall be those who can master their fear.”

The Count finally managed to project a monocle-styled gadget after some concentration. It was limited to only one eye but he said it was enough for him. 

There was no reason to delay any longer. They all mustered their courage and turned to the trillipede hole that glared at them like the evil eye.

Nethril, in particular, hated the thought of crawling into a dark, damp, narrow hole in the ground, musty-smelling and littered with small animal bones. The Dream-maker had cheered them on as though this was an adventure but the Count was right: this expedition was ill-planned and not suited to their level. All the tutorial or preparation they could get was from their own wits and the conjectures of whoever came along with them.

She waited till she was the only one left. The Count was the second to the last to brave the hole. Nethril took a deep breath, went down on her knees and started to crawl.

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