Drizzt Artwork Novels & Stories

Seventy percent of my leftover army had turned into stones. Devon slashed his claw across Drystan’s face. Blood dripped into Drystan’s eyes, turning his vision blurry red. Drystan curled himself into a ball, keeping the shield away from their reach. Their claws and bites plunged at me incessantly. The excruciation rattle from my tearing skin to my cracking spine as they trashed me. Growling and groaning, Drystan clenched the shield in his fangs. Alpha Urza. I need to get his body to its rightful place.

I shook it and something clinked inside. I set it down and tipped it to look at the three images painted on its surface. The first was an Aztec depiction of a bird rising from a fire made of thick outlines, simplistic and garish. The second was a dragon breathing fire, its long serpent-like body undulating half submerged in water. Looked Chinese to me. And the third had a Celtic design made of interlocking weaving patterns that formed a wolf howling at the moon. I thought it odd that there were three vastly different cultures represented on the same piece of artwork, but at the same time it didn't surprise me. Mom could have made it in one of the teacher art classes that she went to.

I asked. "No, just strange, he collects items from the black market aswell and moves them over the water. He favours rare artifacts, magical potions, some art, anything really. If I were a betting man, I'd start with him." Arthur replied dropping the second file onto the desk between us with the first page open as I looked down at the face staring back from the surveillance style photo and the name printed on the sheet confirmed my horror. "Well Fuck me." I gasped as Cadmus Drakos was depicted in the photo clear as day.

"Judging from Master's expression earlier, it looks like this drawing worked. Right, My Lord?" "Worked my ass!" Trish said curtly. "Ah, good. Then please pack them well," said Anwen, and the shop owner and an assistant immediately wrapped up the painting that had been framed with an artistic wooden frame. "You don't want to choose gifts for them, Trish?" "No." Trish wasn't in the mood for picking a gift. He walked to a bench and sat there, folding his arms on the table. His index finger tapped on the table while he gazed at the paintings of natural landscapes on the walls, and he shook his head when the painting of a naked woman flashed in his mind followed by the painting of a couple making

“James, Gary this is Willow Doyle and Tristan Golding from Drakon Designs.” They wave and say hi to both of us and because I can’t help myself, I enter the room and walk over to them to see what they are printing on the mugs. Their expressions are comical as I get closer to them, and they realise that their shenanigans are about to be caught out. Eyes widening with horror, as they shuffle to the side to try and cover the mug they have already made.

Two elderly figures stepped forward side by side. Both were gray-haired, their long beards reaching their chests. Clad in faded gray robes, they appeared like ordinary old arcane seekers. Yet, the ground trembled slightly with every step they took. Not a trace of energy escaped them, yet they loomed over the landscape of his senses, absolute and suffocating. The elder on the left was Drazhan Malixi. Extremely thin, with hawk-like eyes, he held a dark wooden staff carved with intricate twilight symbols. Though he looked ordinary at first glance, he exuded a domineering aura.