0 Comments
0 Shares
0 Views
0 Reviews
Directory
Discover new ideas, create new connections and make new friends
-
Please log in to like, share and comment!
-
The Golden MasterThe fire was high. It ate the wood with a hunger that felt personal. I watched the flames lick the soot. The air was thick. Smells of resin and old ash. My hands were cold. I held the cup tight. The ceramic bit into my palms. Hot. Too hot. I did not let go. I could not let go. The room was full of people. They moved like smoke. Soft shapes. Muffled voices. I heard laughter. It sounded distant....0 Comments 0 Shares 0 Views 0 Reviews
-
The Wistful AtlasThe compass needle spun lazily in its glass casing, a tiny iron heart beating out of rhythm with the world outside the tent flap. Elias Thorne held it up to the grey light filtering through the canvas, his thumb resting on the north-pointing end as if he could force it to stop by sheer will. The needle did not stop. It wavered, dipped, and swung back, indifferent to the forty-two years of life...0 Comments 0 Shares 1 Views 0 Reviews
-
The Golden OathThe mud of the Somme does not merely soak; it consumes, pulling at the hem of your tunic and the soles of your boots with a wet, sucking hunger that feels less like earth and more like the mouth of a beast. You are Elias Thorne, thirty-two, a quartermaster in the 4th Battalion, and you are standing in the trench with your knees bent, your back against the wet wood of the parapet, holding a...0 Comments 0 Shares 0 Views 0 Reviews
-
The Distant CrownThe turkey in the center of the table was a monument to silence, its skin glistening under the chandelier’s harsh, unblinking light, while the oak wood beneath it hummed with a low, subsonic vibration that Elias Thorne felt in his teeth rather than heard with his ears. He stood at the head of the table, a retired federal marshal whose hands were steady enough to tie a knot in a rope but not...0 Comments 0 Shares 0 Views 0 Reviews
-
The Distant WoundThe mud of the Siege of Valois was not merely wet earth but a living, sucking thing that swallowed the boots of Sir Aldric, a knight of the Iron Guard, who stood in the trench with the specific, tangible release of a full pardon for his debt to the Crown as the only thing standing between him and the executioner’s block. He was thirty years old, a man whose life had been reduced to a ledger of...0 Comments 0 Shares 0 Views 0 Reviews
-
The Wistful SagaThe fog in Harrowgate tastes of rust and wet wool. You know this. You have known it for three years, since the day you first stepped off the train, your satchel heavy with papers that no longer mattered. You are not a man of action. You are a man of dust. You are Elias Thorne, or so the name on your badge claims, though the name feels like a coat that does not fit. It is too tight in the...0 Comments 0 Shares 1 Views 0 Reviews
-
The Wistful MirrorThe ash falls like grey snow, settling in the crevices of your armor and coating the lips of the man strapped to your back. You are Elias, thirty-two, and your legs burn with the phantom ache of a march that has lasted three days, though the clock says only two have passed since you crossed the river. Your father, Thomas, is a dead weight of fever and rot, his skin slick with sweat that smells...0 Comments 0 Shares 1 Views 0 Reviews
-
The Pale DoorThe wind did not howl so much as it pressed against the stone, a physical weight that made Elias Thorne’s shoulders ache with a familiar, grinding pain. He stood before the Pale Door, the massive slab of granite that had served as the western exit of the Blackwood Outpost for twenty years, his hand resting on the iron key that had once opened it with a satisfying click. Now, the key turned with...0 Comments 0 Shares 1 Views 0 Reviews
-
The Wistful AtlasThe year is 1240, and you are Elias, a border warden of thirty-two years, standing on the lip of the northern pass where the stone begins to forget its own shape. You want only one thing: to secure the passage before the first frost, to enforce the new royal tolls that promise order to a kingdom fractured by banditry and plague. The opposing force is not a army, but the village elders of Kael,...0 Comments 0 Shares 1 Views 0 Reviews
Arabic
French
Spanish
Portuguese
Deutsch
Turkish
Dutch
Italiano
Russian
Romaian
Portuguese (Brazil)
Greek