0 Comments
0 Shares
4 Views
0 Reviews
Directory
Discover new ideas, create new connections and make new friends
-
Please log in to like, share and comment!
-
The Golden CompassThe bell tower fell at noon. It did not fall all at once. It groaned. The stone cracked. Dust poured down like dry blood. Sergeant Elias Thorne stood in the square. He watched. The iron clapper swung. It hit the roof. Sparks flew. The crowd screamed. They ran. Elias did not move. He was a statue. He was still. The town was Oakhaven. It sat in a valley. The smoke from the mills choked the sky....0 Comments 0 Shares 2 Views 0 Reviews
-
The Pale LetterThe hammer fell with the heavy, rhythmic thud of a heart that had forgotten how to stop, and Elias Thorne’s knuckles bled against the cold iron of the rail he was bending. He was a man made of sharp angles and old scars, a blacksmith in the soot-choked valley of Oakhaven, where the smoke from the new textile mills hung in the air like a grey shroud that refused to lift. The noise of the factory...0 Comments 0 Shares 1 Views 0 Reviews
-
The Wistful ThroneThe rain hit the asphalt in sheets, gray and cold. "Get back in line," said Officer Miller. His voice was low, a rumble under the storm. Thomas Ashworth did not move. He stood at the edge of the precinct square, mud caked on his boots, blood drying on his sleeve. The crowd had gathered. They watched. They whispered. The air smelled of wet wool and iron. "You are obstructing justice," Miller...0 Comments 0 Shares 1 Views 0 Reviews
-
The Faded ShieldThe wind does not howl here; it whispers, a low, wet sound that scrapes against the stone like the tongue of a starving dog, and you are standing in the center of the great hall, where the floor is made of black obsidian polished to a mirror sheen, reflecting the single, pale moon that hangs outside the high, arched window like a blind eye watching your every sin. You are the Warden of the...0 Comments 0 Shares 1 Views 0 Reviews
-
The Distant ClueThe rain had not ceased for three days, a relentless, grey curtain that turned the moorland into a slurry of peat and mud, and it was in this suffocating dampness that I found the seal. It was not a coin, nor a gem, but a heavy disc of iron, cold and slick with the water of the earth, lying half-buried in the trench where the river had carved its new path. I am old now, my hands stiff with the...0 Comments 0 Shares 1 Views 0 Reviews
-
The Pale MistThe train did not so much arrive as it materialized from the thick, sulfurous fog that clung to the tracks of the Ironwood Line like a shroud draped over a corpse, and Elias Thorne stepped onto the platform with the weary, precise grace of a man who had long ago ceased to expect the world to be anything other than a machine that ground its inhabitants into fine, indistinguishable dust, holding...0 Comments 0 Shares 1 Views 0 Reviews
-
The Wistful MountainThe iron gate of the Citadel did not creak; it groaned, a low, tectonic shudder that traveled up through the cobblestones and into the soles of your boots. You stood at the threshold, the air thick with the scent of ozone and wet slate, the sky above a bruised purple that had not seen the sun in three days. You were not a hero in the way the bards of the lower valleys described them, with...0 Comments 0 Shares 1 Views 0 Reviews
-
The Faded RoadThe cellar door was locked from the outside, a heavy iron mechanism that groaned in the damp air, yet inside, the air did not move, it hung thick and sweet, smelling of rotting apples and old wax, and in the center of this stagnant silence stood the great oak table, its surface scarred by decades of use, upon which rested the single object that defined the existence of Elias Thorne, a...0 Comments 0 Shares 1 Views 0 Reviews
-
The Faded SutraThe bread was black. It sat in the center of the table. A wheel of dark, dense loaves. I stared at it. The crust was cracked. Like old skin. Like dry earth. I had baked it. My hands were stained. The flour had seeped into the cuts. I did not care. I was the Keeper. I served the High Table. My brother was dead. He lay in the crypt below. His face was calm. His hands were crossed. He had been a...0 Comments 0 Shares 1 Views 0 Reviews
Arabic
French
Spanish
Portuguese
Deutsch
Turkish
Dutch
Italiano
Russian
Romaian
Portuguese (Brazil)
Greek