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The Distant AffairI woke with the taste of ash in my mouth and the memory of a sound that had not yet been made, a sharp, crystalline shatter that seemed to vibrate in the marrow of my bones before my eyes even opened. The room was dim, the windowpane frosted with a rime that glowed faintly in the pre-dawn dark, and I lay there, suspended between the world of sleep and the waking, feeling the weight of a secret...0 Comments 0 Shares 2 Views 0 Reviews
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The Faded DustThe rain had not stopped for three days, a persistent, grey sheet that turned the road into a slurry of mud and broken leaves, and it was this dampness that seemed to seep into the very marrow of my bones, a cold that no wool cloak could adequately shield against. I stood at the edge of the forest, my hand resting on the pommel of my sword, not because I anticipated an enemy, but because the...0 Comments 0 Shares 2 Views 0 Reviews
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The Pale MeridianThe rain in Millhaven does not fall so much as it hangs, a grey, suspended mist that clings to the wool of your coat and seeps into the marrow of your bones, a constant, damp whisper that speaks of decay and the slow, inevitable rot of things left too long in the earth. You are the new officer, Thomas Bradshaw, and you stand on the porch of the station house, watching the fog roll down from the...0 Comments 0 Shares 2 Views 0 Reviews
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The Faded QuadrantThe feast was a lie. I say this because the food was cold. The wine was sour. The laughter was thin, like paper tearing. We sat in the great hall of the old manor, the air thick with the smell of wet wool and fear. Thomas sat at my right hand. He did not eat. He watched the fire. The fire was low. It crackled. It whispered. I wanted to speak. I could not. My throat was tight. A knot of stone...0 Comments 0 Shares 5 Views 0 Reviews
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The Golden VisitThe dream began with the smell of ozone and old iron, a scent that had long since faded from the waking world but clung to the memory of the mill like a stain on linen. You were standing in the center of the vast, high-ceilinged floor of the Ashworth Textile Company, the air thick with the dust of a century. It was not a dream of light, but of a profound, suffocating darkness, broken only by...0 Comments 0 Shares 6 Views 0 Reviews
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The Wistful MountainThe fire did not begin with a spark, but with a sigh. It was a low, resonant exhalation that seemed to rise from the very foundation stones of the Grand Auditorium, a sound that the old masonry had swallowed and held for centuries before finally deciding to speak. Colonel Elias Thorne stood at the center of the vast, circular chamber, his posture rigid as a plumb line, his uniform immaculate...0 Comments 0 Shares 2 Views 0 Reviews
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The Distant MachineThe wind did not howl, as the poets of the capital claimed it did, but rather scraped, a dry and relentless sound like sandpaper drawn across the grain of old oak, echoing through the hollows of the ridge where the watchtower stood. Sir Alistair Vance, the Keeper of the Northern Gate, held the object in his left hand, his knuckles white and swollen from the cold, while his right hand rested on...0 Comments 0 Shares 3 Views 0 Reviews
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The Wistful SilenceThe mud is cold. It sucks at your boots with a wet, hungry sound. You taste iron on your tongue. A man falls in front of you. He is wearing the same grey as you. His face is slack, eyes open, staring at a sky that offers no answer. You do not stop. You cannot stop. To stop is to die. So you move. Your legs are pistons. Your breath is a ragged bellows. You are not here for glory. You are here...0 Comments 0 Shares 5 Views 0 Reviews
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The Golden QuestThe sword is heavy. It is heavier than it should be. You feel the weight of it in your shoulder, in the arch of your spine, in the teeth you clench against the noise of the world. You are in the courtyard of the Blackwood estate. The stone is cold under your boots. The air smells of wet iron and old blood. They are coming. You see them. Three men in the livery of the Crown. Their armor is...0 Comments 0 Shares 2 Views 0 Reviews
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