0 Kommentare
0 Geteilt
5 Ansichten
0 Bewertungen
Verzeichnis
Discover new ideas, create new connections and make new friends
-
Bitte loggen Sie sich ein, um liken, teilen und zu kommentieren!
-
The Wolf of Normandy## Act I: The Abandoned Cub (20%) The year was 1096, and the road to Jerusalem was long, hot, and full of men who believed they were doing God's work while doing the Devil's. I was one of them, though I did not know it then. I was Roland de Montfort, sixty-five years old, knight of Normandy, and I had spent my life fighting for causes that were not my own. We had crossed Anatolia and were...0 Kommentare 0 Geteilt 4 Ansichten 0 Bewertungen
-
The Ledger of Blackwood LaneRain hit the windows of Marcus Hale's apartment like handfuls of gravel thrown by an angry child. He sat at his desk, the yellow shade of the brass lamp pulled low, staring at the open drawer where he'd left his old police revolver. Six rounds. He'd counted them every night for three years, ever since Blackwell made his offer. The knock came just after midnight. Not the tentative rap of a...0 Kommentare 0 Geteilt 7 Ansichten 0 Bewertungen
-
The Howling Silence## Act I: The Last Shot (20%) The wind off the Atlantic carried salt and the promise of snow when Arthur Winters raised his rifle for the third time that afternoon. Through the frost-crusted scope, he watched the thin grey wolf pick its way along the cliff edge, ribs visible beneath matted fur. Four small shapes tumbled behind it—pups, no more than eight weeks old, all legs and awkward...0 Kommentare 0 Geteilt 4 Ansichten 0 Bewertungen
-
The Godless PrayerThe Godless PrayerACT I: THE BELLThe chapel bell tolled twice at midnight, though no one had pulled the rope. Thomas Eddington stood outside the iron gates with his hat pressed to his chest, his breath making small ghosts in the fog that rolled down from the mill chimneys. He had walked three miles from the mill row, his boots gone through at the soles, his hands raw from the carding room. All...0 Kommentare 0 Geteilt 4 Ansichten 0 Bewertungen
-
THE ARCHIVIST'S WARAct I: The Filing Sublevel Seven of the Central Archives Tower smelled of dust and slow decay. Julian Moran knew this because he had spent six years on that sublevel, and his sense of smell had adapted to the particular chemistry of aged paper, oxidizing adhesive, and the faint metallic tang of the tower's climate control system, which had not been properly maintained since the Tower was...0 Kommentare 0 Geteilt 4 Ansichten 0 Bewertungen
-
The Knight's EchoThe dust of the Great Plains did not just coat the land; it entered the soul. In the town of Oakhaven, the wind carried the scent of dying corn and the metallic tang of a failing dream. Silas was a man carved from that dust—hard, dry, and silent. He had once believed in the providence of the soil, but ten years of drought had stripped him of everything but a stubborn, reflexive habit of...0 Kommentare 0 Geteilt 10 Ansichten 0 Bewertungen
-
The Death SeerI The itch started in Jack Morretti's right knee the night Vincent "Two-Toes" Moretti died. It wasn't a normal itch. It was deep, under the kneecap, like something was trying to push its way out from between the bones. Jack sat on the edge of his bed in his skid-row apartment above a noodle shop on East Olympic Boulevard and scratched until his fingernails came away bleeding. By morning,...0 Kommentare 0 Geteilt 4 Ansichten 0 Bewertungen
-
The Sunday LedgerThe Sunday LedgerACT I: THE ENVELOPEThe church of San Giuda had been built in 1891 by the Italian immigrants who came to New York with nothing but calloused hands and a picture of the Madonna sewn into the lining of their coats. Angelo Moretti came to Mass there every Sunday because his mother had made him, and because after Mass, in the cool dimness of the nave, he could sit for five minutes...0 Kommentare 0 Geteilt 7 Ansichten 0 Bewertungen
-
The Mercy of the MistThe village of Oakhaven was a place where time seemed to hold its breath. Nestled in the rolling green hills of the English countryside, it was a sanctuary of thatched cottages, ancient oaks, and a peace that felt almost sacred. Silas was the village gardener, a man of few words and clumsy hands, but with a heart that beat in rhythm with the earth. He loved the soil, the scent of rain on warm...0 Kommentare 0 Geteilt 9 Ansichten 0 Bewertungen
English
Arabic
French
Spanish
Portuguese
Turkish
Dutch
Italiano
Russian
Romaian
Portuguese (Brazil)
Greek