Legacy 15 -- Fat-Free Cookies!

[sharelle]

As many people who might find their way here probably know, Rummi likes to do a bit of writing in her spare time. My most current fandom obsessions tend to gravitate toward the realm of fantasy - most notably the Dungeons and Dragons cartoon of the early 80's. My latest foray into fan-based literature, Legacy, has been going strong for over a year now and I'm both surprised and thrilled by the responses I've gotten for it! Lately, however, updates have been few. (Real Life is, unfortunately, a rather harsh master.)

I've felt kind of guilty for not having anything new up for Legacy over the past few months. (I actually can't believe my last update was way back in January!) Of course, I've still been working on it, but I haven't spent the time I'd like in the revision process. (There's still a lot to go over.) I do know that some people have been waiting patiently and so, in appreciation, I've prepared a baker's dozen "fat-free" (aka "spoiler-free") cookies for you!

Here they are -- in no particular order, of course! *g* Hope you enjoy! (Though some are subject to change slightly as I finish revising the latest chapter.) Look for a real update soon!





Legacy15 Fat-Free Cookies!

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"Please," the girl whimpered, "Do something!"
Venger merely shook his head sadly. "There is nothing that I can do."

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Hank, for once, had allowed the spontaneous gut of his anger to do the deciding for him. It wasn’t something he was proud of, but events had been set into motion that were, now, too late to change. He would live with that. He would have to.

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"Alas, if only tears could undo time."

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The Mistress of War mocked Hank with villainous laughter. "Arrogant fool!" she proclaimed, her voice full of scorn. "There is nothing you can do to stop me! As you can see, Ranger, there is to be only one outcome here!"

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Diana turned to him as she leaned over the table, noting the haunted look in the boy's eyes. "It's okay, Toby, you can go," she said gently. "Thank you."

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With a twist of her gut, she suddenly felt that she didn't want to do that anymore. Her chin shuddered uncontrollably and tears began streaming, unchecked, down her face.

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His mind was a shattered mirror, the splintered fragments of thought linked only by the feeling of anger that flooded through him. But why? What had happened to cause this? He couldn't remember. Until he heard it again.
Dead.
His head cocked to the side to listen and he could feel a sneer spreading across his features.
She perished trying to protect you.

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"Damn it, Eric, I'm a doctor! Not a S.W.A.T. team member!" Presto quipped crossly as he rummaged through his hat.

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He looked up again and met Sheila's eyes. They were full of fear, but not for herself.

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Hank stretched his arm across the arc of his gilded recurve bow, then pulled it steadily back. In his three-fingered grip appeared the flaming bowstring and the fiery arrow, leveled at the heart of his target, straight ahead.

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And he cried then . . . . muffled and low and desperate. The type of crying of which he never would have thought himself capable . . . until now.

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She looked up into his eyes pleadingly and gently eased his hands away from her. "Let me go," she urged.

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Sheila felt herself cast to the side and to the ground. A forceful wind, that she somehow knew to be the force of Bobby's club, rushed by her head as she fell. When she landed, she whipped her head around, searching desperately for her husband.

She spotted him lying prone on the rocky earth a distance from her.

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