0 Comments
0 Shares
1 Views
0 Reviews
Directory
Discover new ideas, create new connections and make new friends
-
Please log in to like, share and comment!
-
The Distant CartographThe mud of the King’s highway sucked at Elias Thorne’s boots with a wet, persistent hunger, pulling him deeper into the earth as he marched his squad toward the gates of Oakhaven. It was the year of our Lord 1342, and the autumn air bit at his exposed cheeks, carrying the scent of rotting leaves and distant smoke. Elias was thirty years old, a sergeant of the Crown’s levy, a man who had built...0 Comments 0 Shares 0 Views 0 Reviews
-
The Distant NightmareThe rain had been falling on the slate roof of the Municipal Archive for three days, a steady, grey drumbeat that Elias Thorne found more comforting than the silence of his own office. At fifty, his joints ached in the damp, a physical reminder of the years he had spent hunched over brittle parchment and crumbling ledgers. He was not a man who sought the spotlight, but he did seek accuracy, and...0 Comments 0 Shares 0 Views 0 Reviews
-
The Pale PathThe marble is cold under your knees. You are Elias, thirty-two, a captain in the Imperial Guard, and you are dying. The hilt of your sword is slick with sweat, your knuckles white, but the blade is already broken, snapped clean at the guard where you drove it into the stone in a desperate, futile parry. You want to survive. You want to walk out of this throne room, past the shattered statues of...0 Comments 0 Shares 0 Views 0 Reviews
-
The Wistful Saga1912, October. The chalk dust is in my lungs. It tastes of iron and old paper. I am thirty-two years old, a junior clerk at the Ashworth Foundry, and I have one week to secure my promotion. The opposing force is not a man. It is the Grey Path. It lies in the basement, a seam of fog that shifts when I blink. I believe I can conquer it by mapping its exact coordinates. If I can pin it down, I can...0 Comments 0 Shares 0 Views 0 Reviews
-
The Faded PhotographThe rain in Oakhaven did not wash the streets clean; it merely made the mud slicker, turning the village into a mirror of its own rot. Sergeant Elias Thorne stepped out of the police van, his boots sinking into the slurry of the main square, the weight of his service revolver heavy against his hip. He was thirty-four, a man who had spent a decade enforcing order in places where order was a...0 Comments 0 Shares 0 Views 0 Reviews
-
The Pale DanceThe snow does not fall here; it is pressed down by the weight of the smoke that chokes the valley floor. You sit in the watchtower, the silence a physical thing against your eardrums, listening to the wind rattle the iron shutters. Your name is Elias Thorne, and you are forty-two years old, a warden in the industrial wasteland of the Blackwood Range. You want to save Clara. She has been wasting...0 Comments 0 Shares 1 Views 0 Reviews
-
The Golden RitualThe rain had not stopped for three days, turning the flagstone courtyard of the Order of the Golden Chain into a slick, grey mirror that reflected the weeping stone walls and the heavy, iron-bound doors. Brother Thomas stood at the edge of the barracks, his back curved into a permanent question mark, a deformity born of forty years spent kneeling on the cold floor in prayer and penance. He was...0 Comments 0 Shares 1 Views 0 Reviews
-
The Golden RitualThe rain had been falling for three days, a persistent, grey drizzle that turned the gravel path to the estate into a slurry of mud and decay. You stood in the doorway of the study, your umbrella dripping onto the warped floorboards, and looked at the desk where your father’s final notes were supposed to be. The air in the house was thick with the scent of mildew and old paper, a smell that had...0 Comments 0 Shares 1 Views 0 Reviews
-
The Faded GuestThe dust in the Thorne manor does not settle; it waits. It hangs in the air like a fine grey snow, drifting over the shelves of the archive where I sit, my fingers trembling as I trace the spine of a ledger from 1892. I am Elias Thorne, forty-two, and the winter solstice is three days away. I need to find the family seal before then. It is a small disc of obsidian, heavy with the weight of our...0 Comments 0 Shares 1 Views 0 Reviews
Arabic
French
Spanish
Portuguese
Deutsch
Turkish
Dutch
Italiano
Russian
Romaian
Portuguese (Brazil)
Greek