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The Distant ClueThe rain did not fall so much as it invaded, a grey, industrial soup that clung to the glass of the high windows in the Hall. You stood in the center of the room, your hands clasped behind your back, feeling the dampness seep through the wool of your coat. The air tasted of wet stone and old iron, a flavor that had defined your existence in this place for the last decade. You were the Keeper,...0 Comments 0 Shares 1 Views 0 Reviews
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The Golden ScarThe sky above the Ironspire did not burn with the orange of a common sunset, nor did it bleed the crimson of a violent dusk, but rather it curdled into a thick, bruised purple that pressed down upon the shoulders of the watchmen like a physical weight, a heavy wool blanket soaked in vinegar and old blood. Sergeant Elias Thorne stood at the edge of the precipice, his boots caked in the grey dust...0 Comments 0 Shares 0 Views 0 Reviews
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The Distant NightmareThe rain did not stop. It fell in a steady, grey sheet against the windowpane. I watched it run. The glass was cold. My hands were colder. I held a pair of shears. The metal was dull. It had been dull for years. I am Elias Vane. I live in a house at the edge of the moor. The house is old. The stones are black. The air tastes of iron. I work in the yard. I cut the branches. I cut them back. I...0 Comments 0 Shares 1 Views 0 Reviews
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The Distant CartographThe hands of the Duke of Avelon did not tremble, but they had begun to map a geography that was no longer his own. Wyll, the boy who served as the Duke’s shadow in the high towers of the castle, watched them with a reverence that had curdled into something colder, something harder. He was twelve, of an age when the world is still wide enough to hold all mysteries, but he had learned, in the...0 Comments 0 Shares 1 Views 0 Reviews
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The Faded PhotographThe rain fell on the cobblestones of New London like a static hiss, a relentless, gray noise that seemed to vibrate in the teeth. Elias Thorne stood in the window of his cramped office on the fourth floor, watching the street below. The gas lamps had not yet been lit, but the dusk was thick and heavy, a bruise forming on the horizon. Inside, the air smelled of damp wool and old paper. On his...0 Comments 0 Shares 0 Views 0 Reviews
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The Golden CrossingThe sky split open on a Tuesday. It did not rain. It bled. A thick, viscous gold poured from the bruised purple heavens, soaking the dry earth of the high desert in a silent, heavy deluge. Thomas Bradshaw stood on the ridge, his rifle slung low, his uniform torn at the shoulder. He was not a soldier of any known army. His badge was tarnished, the metal etched with a symbol that looked like an...0 Comments 0 Shares 0 Views 0 Reviews
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The Wistful AtlasThe banquet hall is a cavern of candlelight, where the air hangs heavy with the scent of roasted pheasant and the sweat of three hundred bodies pressed together in the heat, and you stand at the edge of the dais, your fingers trembling around the crystal goblet, watching the King raise his own cup in a toast to the eternal prosperity of the realm, his face a mask of benevolent indifference that...0 Comments 0 Shares 2 Views 0 Reviews
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The Faded ParadoxThe sky over the valley of Aethelgard did not break; it peeled. It came away in sheets of bruised purple and gold, revealing not the stars beneath, but a void of absolute, humming silence. Elias Thorne stood on the precipice of his observatory, the stone railing cold and rough beneath his fingers, watching the world unravel. He was a man of few words and many observations, a keeper of the...0 Comments 0 Shares 0 Views 0 Reviews
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The Golden QuestThe rain fell in thin, silver needles against the high, arched windows of the Hall of Whispers, blurring the world outside into a smear of grey mud and distant, silent woods. Inside, the air was thick with the scent of beeswax and old parchment, a heavy, suffocating perfume that seemed to cling to the skin. Sir Alaric stood alone in the center of the circular chamber, his back to the great oak...0 Comments 0 Shares 1 Views 0 Reviews
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