Fulguralis's eyes fluttered open. White walls reflected white floors mirroring a white ceiling. Light seemed to come from everywhere and nowhere. The warlock squinted and sat up.
Well, he was already sitting. This must be a dream. ...
Fulguralis plants the head of his mallet into the ground and leans up against it, panting. The exceedingly odd man next to him hands him a red ticket. Fulguralis nods and exchanges it for the long wooden hammer.
"Well done," the man says. ...
Fulguralis stomped from one end of the room to the other. Reaching the far side, he retraced his path. Once he was back where he started, he muttered a few things, and then began the pattern anew. His wife watched from the safety of the bed.
...
The remnants of the turkey had been hauled away and sharded. The table cleaned up. The candles burned low. Fulguralis sat next to his wife. At the head of the table was Captain Melvin Brightrune, his father-in-law. His mother-in-law was just returning ...
Fulguralis fluffed his robes and turned to stare at the huge, ferocious dragon. Blood dripped from its razor sharp teeth, pooling on the ground. It roared in the warlock's face, sending his long blond hair streaming back. Flecks of spittle slapped ...