fantasy
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taste the fall.
You can taste the fall: that brittle, clean chill on the too-blue edge of a late-autumn dawn, half-gleaming in your throat and lungs. Beyond the grasping branches laced in the withered fire of dying leaves, you can see thin clouds… Continue reading
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gorm the witchfinder: gormless.
It hadn’t really been his name yet – just what people called him. There wasn’t a definition there, a set of beliefs and perspectives and experiences to attach to it, to make it his. It was just a sound that… Continue reading
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gorm the witchfinder: fracture.
Faith doesn’t shatter – it fractures, a bit at a time. Cracks will lurch and twist and snarl their way into tangled starbursts along the surface; eventually, they will reach deeper. Only when the foundation is truly rotted through, held… Continue reading
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gorm the witchfinder: sanctimony.
The woman is sat, wounded, against a godawful altar – a haphazard stack of bloodied bones and wood, arranged to perilously support an open, thin tome. The book shivers and twitches like a living thing, the pages whipping back and… Continue reading
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the bad old soldier and the brand new world.
It doesn’t seem right, he thinks. The moment deserves more than a light drizzle and an old man shivering in his tent in the forest. It ought to be storming. The skies ought to be swelling with the weight of… Continue reading
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peacekeeper.
Koyalev Ilgazred squints at the half-polished guardsman’s badge in her hand, then dips a cloth in some alcohol and resumes scrubbing. She can’t see her reflection yet, so she – The badge disappears under her pillow as she hears the… Continue reading
The Chez Dispenser 