Disenchanted (Land of Dis)
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Robert Kroese’s Disenchanted comes fully loaded with the wit and charm of The Princess Bride and a sense of humor all its own. This clever take on the traditional fantasy includes footnotes that keep the narrator honest, a cast of characters that resembles something out of the Island of Misfit Toys, and a fantastic setting filled with words and names that test pronunciation skills.
Being assassinated doesn't have many upsides, so when King Boric is felled by a traitor, the king comforts himself with the knowledge that, like all great warriors, he will spend eternity carousing in the Hall of Avandoor. There's just one problem: to claim his heavenly reward, Boric must release the enchanted sword of Brakslaagt.
Now, to avoid being cursed to walk the land of Dis forever as an undead wraith, he must hunt down the mysterious Lord Brand who gave him the sword twenty years ago. So begins Boric's extraordinary journey across the Six Kingdoms of Dis, a walking corpse who wants nothing more than to be disenchanted and left in peace. Along the way he's advised by the Witch of Twyllic, mocked by the threfelings of New Threfelton, burned, shot at, and nearly blown to bits. But nothing can prepare him for coming face-to-face with Lord Brand. For in that moment, Boric discovers that nothing—in life, in death, or in between—is exactly what it seems.
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no sounds in either direction other than the hooting of owls and rustling of the wind through the trees. There was no way to know whether the wraiths were ahead of him or behind him, or what direction they were going — or whether they had split up to cover more ground. His best bet was to continue southward and keep an eye out for them. He trudged glumly through the forest all night and the next day. In most places the forest provided enough cover that the sunlight wasn’t overly bothersome, but
under an assumed name — which was true — and apologize that he hadn’t trusted her with his secret. She would understand that, right? Of course she would; she had pretended to be a man for a year. She knew the value of deception. Then he would explain that his father was temperamental and old-fashioned, and that they would need to find another alchemist — a man, of course — to be the figurehead of the operation. Boric would find someone he could trust, someone who would pretend to have meetings
with birds and with rocks and with plants And with boars and with elks and with all manner of bugs With bees and spiders and a billion or so ants Scurrying under moss carpets and lichenous rugs The forest, they saw, was a fine piece of work Having trees and shrubs and plenty of deer Devoid of all filth and all rubbish, humans and orcs But what race can we find who deserves to live here? Elves, elves, we are the best Elves, elves, forget the rest Elves, elves, casting our spells Elves,
Eytrith. “Thou art on thy own with this one. Thou must break this enchantment before I can transport thee to the Hall of Avandoor. I shall return in one week. Good luck!” The Eytrith slapped the neck of the Wyndbahr and it crouched and then used its powerful haunches to launch into the air. With a few flaps of its wings, they were gone. Break the enchantment? thought Boric. How would he go about doing that? Perhaps by destroying his physical body? Or would that simply trap him in this form
ogre down. So far, it amounted only to talk. “It’s only a matter of time before the ogre hits Plik,” said one man. “If that lazy bastard Toric isn’t going to do anything about it, we need to take matters into our own hands.” He downed a flagon of beer to punctuate his point. The man was built like a tree stump. Massive, blackened hands hung from arms roped with muscle, and his dirty blond hair was pulled back in a braid behind his head. A blacksmith, no doubt. And an insolent blacksmith at that,