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 Pale BannerThe stone floor was cold enough to bite through the leather of Julian’s boots. He sat in the corner of the keep, his back against the damp wall, his hands wrapped around a bundle of white linen. It was a banner. Once, it had been a symbol of pure loyalty, a crisp rectangle of honor flown above the gates of this very fortress. Now, it was frayed, stained with the mud of the lower yards and the...0 Comments 0 Shares 0 Views 0 Reviews
-
The Golden OathThe rain in Kaelen’s Hollow did not wash things clean; it only made the mud slicker and the shadows deeper. You stand in the mud, Eamon, your shield arm aching from a day’s march, watching the High Justiciar’s men drag Cillian from the crowd. He is smaller than you, always has been, but his eyes are wide and bright with a terror that makes your stomach turn. The accusation hangs in the air,...0 Comments 0 Shares 0 Views 0 Reviews
-
The Pale VerdictThe file was stamped with the red ink of the Northern District, a color that had begun to bleed into the margins of Elias Thorne’s vision three days prior, a slow hemorrhage of bureaucratic fact that turned the dry, yellowed ledgers into wet, weeping things. Elias, forty-two years old and a senior assessor for the Ministry of Internal Revenue, sat in the center of the archive’s sub-basement,...0 Comments 0 Shares 0 Views 0 Reviews
-
The Pale VerdictThe silverware whispered. It was not a sound of metal on porcelain, but a low, sibilant hum that rose from the goblets and forks, a chorus of secrets held by the objects themselves. Elias Thorne stood at the center of the banquet, his fingers white-knuckled around a crystal stem. He was forty-five, the Chief Archivist of the court, a man who had spent three decades organizing the kingdom’s...0 Comments 0 Shares 0 Views 0 Reviews
-
The Wistful ShowThe brass gears numbered forty-two, and Elias Thorne counted them twice, his thumb tracing the teeth with a callus so thick it had turned the skin into a second layer of metal. He was forty years old, an exile from a country he no longer named, and he stood in the center of the Great Hall of Blackwood Manor, the air thick with the scent of old dust and the faint, metallic tang of his own fear....0 Comments 0 Shares 0 Views 0 Reviews
-
The Faded DustThe basement of the municipal library smelled of mildew and old paper, a scent that had seeped into Elias Thorne’s pores over twenty years of service. He sat hunched over a steel table, the fluorescent light buzzing overhead like an angry insect, his fifty-two-year-old hands trembling as he tried to smooth the warped pages of a water-damaged ledger from 1954. The arthritis in his knuckles had...0 Comments 0 Shares 0 Views 0 Reviews
-
The Wistful MountainThe rain at Kestrel Station does not fall; it hammers, a relentless, cold percussion against the corrugated tin roof that shakes the dust from the rafters. You stand on the platform, the discharge papers in your hand damp and softening, the ink of your name blurring into the grey sludge of the world. You are Elias Thorne, thirty-two years old, a sergeant who has served twelve years in the...0 Comments 0 Shares 0 Views 0 Reviews
-
The Golden SongThe chisel snapped. Elias stared at the broken iron, the jagged end still wedged in the limestone. His hand was not his own. It was a block of grey stone, fused to the workbench, the veins replaced by mineral striations that pulsed with a dull, cold weight. He tried to pull back. The bench did not move. The stone did not move. The air in the workshop tasted of chalk dust and old sweat, a flavor...0 Comments 0 Shares 0 Views 0 Reviews
-
The Pale VerdictThe name came to him over the sound of the mud sucking at his boots. "Thorne. Hold the line." It was not a request, but a command issued by the silence between the explosions. Sergeant Elias Thorne stood in the breach of the Iron Gate, the Year of the Ashen King pressing down on his shoulders like a wet wool coat. He wanted to survive. He wanted to carry the sealed decree from the warlord’s...0 Comments 0 Shares 0 Views 0 Reviews
Arabic
French
Spanish
Portuguese
Deutsch
Turkish
Dutch
Italiano
Russian
Romaian
Portuguese (Brazil)
Greek