Meriwether’s teeth hurt, and that was the good part. He’d grabbed the discs, hoping to give Geneve a rest from burning pieces of her life to ash to help everyone but herself, and that’s when the hurting started. It hurt a lot, and everywhere at once. It felt like a hot wire was pushed through his skin, into his bones, but all over his body. When he hit the floor, his mind drifted. He felt like a leech had sucked something out of him. A component without a name. While his hands were on the discs, he’d felt his life play before him. Not the ridiculous term flashing before your eyes, but a blow-by-blow recap of everything he’d done. It wasn’t the events that were important, but who he’d been with, and what he’d done to them, or for them. The Read More …

Geneve’s own Trial was a thing she grew to fear. The years marched on, relentless, and still the Storm evaded her. On her fourteenth birthday, it was announced her Trial would be next year. Kytto said it was ‘bullshit.’ No one forced a Novice to Trial, but he wanted to help her pass. The Smith never held the Storm, but he eyed her form, and swore it was the best he’d seen from any Novice. Perfection even Chevaliers couldn’t manage. Israel and Vertiline sparred with her. Blades of wood, not glass or steel, but even with a stick Israel could conjure the Storm. Clerics were brought to assess. Lucent Eleni feared illness, and wise heads nodded in agreement. It was a sickness, but one of the mind. She need only remember what happened before her fifth birthday. Seal the rift Read More …

Geneve felt sick. It wasn’t just the poison. It felt like her soul needed care, a little time out, to just put its feet up and relax. She knew it’d only been days, but Geneve felt she’d run north for what felt like forever. Cut off from her fellow Knights, Geneve had done the best she could. She’d brought the sinner north, and during their time together, she’d learned he wasn’t a sinner. Meri wasn’t evil, any more than Sight of Day was, or even the monster, Armitage. She’d met evil people before, and none traveled with her. Iz and Tilly arriving felt like a condemnation of her choices. Israel’s voice held such pain when he called her name, and then she’d left his storm to die against the rock of Nicolette. That’s a little dramatic. I was poisoned, dying, Read More …

This is bullshit. It’s a lot of bullshit! Meriwether sprinted until he couldn’t anymore, then tried to push himself to merely run, breath running ragged in his chest. I need a plan, and I need it fast. Fire chewed the camp ahead. Meriwether headed toward it, Sight of Day at his side. The cat’s golden eyes were hard, like he hunted dangerous prey. His bow was in hand, and Meriwether was reminded that here he was, with a borrowed knife and no skills. Hey. I’ve got some skills. He hunkered beside a tent as it verged a makeshift road. Vhemin ran past, heading south. Meriwether almost ducked from cover when ten passed, but Sight of Day held his shoulder. A woman strode by, all black armor and cruel smiles. She was beautiful, but like the sun was to ice. Her face was hard, skin Read More …

Geneve stood atop the keep’s battlements, watching Wincuf walk away. The thug limped. Lucent Eleni claimed his injuries were past her skill with Sway, but she’d re-attached the Novice’s arm in times past. Cleric Eleni wasn’t telling the whole truth. They’d turned him out with silver regals in his pocket, a good Tresward Smithsteel sword, and a total lack of their blessing. The young man cursed them all, and Geneve in particular. She didn’t take it personally because she’d won. Footsteps turned her from the view and her reflection. Tilly walked toward her, armor gleaming in the sun. “Novice.” “Hello.” Geneve returned to the wondrous sight of a retreating Wincuf. “That’s that, then.” “What’s what?” Vertiline placed her hands on the old stone, leaning forward, shoulders hunched. “No more Wincuf.” The Chevalier laughed. “There will be plenty more Wincuf. He’s Read More …

Geneve approached the temple with her head high, red locks flowing in the desert wind. She’d donned her armor for this, because challenging Vhemin without steel around your heart was foolish, no matter how many patterns you knew. She didn’t have her helm because she’d left it on the sands to signpost supplies for old friends, so she’d need to keep her guard up. At least, I hope they’re still old friends. The desert was uncomfortably warm, the sands radiating the day’s heat back at her. Armitage looked happy enough, his leather armor strapped on tight. If his broken arm bothered him, he didn’t let it show. His massive club was held loose and easy in both hands. The plan was simple. Walk to the front door, knock, and enter. When they were still a klick away, Armitage pointed a Read More …