A Whisper from the Netherworld — A Short Story

The five of them trekked through the gorge alongside a narrow mountain river. The path zigzagged capriciously, and the frequent rocky outcrops often rendered the banks impassable. They had to cross the river again and again, ford its cold currents time after time. But no one complained. These were wild, uninhabited lands—who would build bridges here? And that was precisely what they had wanted: to get as far away as possible, into the deepest backcountry. So, they all jumped across the slippery stones with enthusiasm, conquering each watery obstacle.

New Year’s Tangerines — A Short Story

The evening of December 31st didn’t feel festive at all. A sleet of icy pellets was falling from the sky, and a gusty wind made everything worse. Huddled against it, I walked down the sidewalk, cursing the weather, New Year’s, and my boss who’d made me stay late at work—where, by the way, they hadn’t given me my advance pay. Now I’d have to wait for my salary until after the holidays, and I had next to nothing left. At least I’d bought the New Year’s groceries ahead of time.

Stories of Shaal: Evening in the Barrens - A Fanfiction Story from the Warcraft Universe

The dry air of the stony desert turned rapidly from scorching to cold as evening approached. Shaal of the Stone Hoof, a tauren shaman from Thunder Bluff, had traveled from Mulgore to these harsh lands for a single purpose: to gather a particular type of small mushroom for his smoking mixture. To better commune with the spirits of the elements.

«Fedot's Mitote» — A Short Story

«You don't know what mitote means?» Sergey asked, surprised. «Man, you're clueless, and you supposedly live in a city. Ever heard of Castaneda?»

«Well, sort of. Something about shamans,» Dmitry mumbled uncertainly.

«See? Clueless. What shamans? It's magic! Castaneda writes about magic and power,» Sergey cut him off. «Power's the main thing, and whoever's better at hunting it gets more of it. Usually you hunt alone, but sometimes hunters get together, take peyote, and meet Mescalito. That's a mitote. So, you in?»

«Strength and Honor!» — A Fanfiction Story from the Warcraft Universe

Kroghur opened his eyes. A soft light filtered down through the hut's roof, through the gap in the chimney—the sun had not yet risen. From outside came a noise like a disturbed beehive. For years, this sound had instantly stirred Kroghur's fury and the sweet anticipation of battle. The orcish clans of the Horde were preparing for a campaign. Today, like all the mortal races of Azeroth, the orcs were marching against the Burning Legion.

That Time «Something Went Wrong» — A Short Story

Long before I finally set out on this hike, people kept asking me, "Have you been to the Gusgarf Waterfall?" "No," I'd reply, "what waterfall is that?" The descriptions that followed were always colorful, but they all boiled down to the same thing: it was a big one, about thirty meters high, and back in Soviet times it was called "Pionersky" (The Pioneer). Lately, I'd heard another name too — "Ok Kul" — though I can't vouch for that one.

A Ring for a Solo Hiker — A Short Story

People usually go hiking in groups — it's more fun and safer. But there are exceptions to this rule. There's such a thing as solo hiking, where being alone in the mountains is a conscious choice, not a forced situation. Everyone has their own reasons, and it applies to all kinds of mountain travel. There are even climbers who summit peaks alone — that's a solo ascent. The phenomenon isn't new; it's just not very common. In the Soviet past, for example, such individualism wasn't encouraged, so it's more developed in the West.

Little Ships: A Story of One Morning — A Short Story

When I was a child, I lived not far from a big park. It was the city's main park, traditionally named after the leader of the world proletariat. Back then, in my early childhood, it seemed enormous — a whole world, full of amusements, wonders, and mysterious nooks.

Just a Shame — A Miniature Story

"What's that supposed to mean?" he asked, not turning around, busy making coffee.

"Just what I said. I'm leaving today, with some friends." She held a cigarette in one hand, while with the other she arranged sliced cheese and sausage on bread.

"Leaving... with friends?" he frowned, setting two cups of coffee on the table — black for himself, the one with cream near her.

The Cave of the Mountain Spirit — A Short Story

After hiking four kilometers up the gorge along the river, I reached a wide hollow nestled between mountain giants. Just above this spot, three small mountain rivers merged into a single stream. For reasons unknown to me, the locals called this hollow the "meadow of power." It was oval-shaped. At its northern end, near the confluence of the rivers, it was fringed by a juniper grove. A river meandered along its western edge, and to the east, an expanse of scree and enormous boulders encroached from a spur of the massif crowned by the peak of White Bars.

«Howl» — A Short Story

The chill of a late autumn night. Wind rustles through the fallen leaves with a damp, penetrating cold. The full moon watches the frozen earth with a deathly stare, a well chain creaks.

Suddenly, a drawn-out howl, full of longing, tore through the silence.
"Was that wolves?" Mikhailych shuddered, startled from his brooding.
"Last time, remember, the wolves howled just like that when you took Marta's pups to drown," his wife grumbled.