Color of Awe 8.03 – Erik

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Rage is a veil that hides beauty from men.   

— ANCIENT PROVERB

You must kill him. Asbjörn giggled. Yes, kill him before he can kill you. Only the dead can’t harm you. The voice in Erik’s skull turned introspective. But then if that’s true, what am I? What are you? Are we not both dead? Continue reading “Color of Awe 8.03 – Erik”

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Color of Awe 8.01 – Hanna

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We all become mud after the autumn rain.   

— ANCIENT PROVERB

Hanna lifted the leather window curtains to peer outside the carriage. Under a faltering drizzle, a small army of men worked their way down the well-maintained road leading from the outpost on the southern side of the Rin Mountains, small and dark against the northern sky. There was nothing interesting to see so soon after leaving Hjörtur, but Erik was out there somewhere. Despite the rain, brilliant sun rays shone through the thinning gray clouds, yet the light did nothing to remove the recent gloom from her heart. Continue reading “Color of Awe 8.01 – Hanna”

Broken Things 7.05 – Erik

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Author Note: For every 50 people that signup to my Mailing List, I will release an extra chapter on Thursdays. For a limited time only. (Count: 2/50)

For the God Touched the endless paths all lead home.

—  ANCIENT PROVERB

Seated in a high-backed chair in front of the fireplace, Erik tried to drown his worries in a bowl of red wine. It was not working. Oh, the wine was as delicious as anything anyone could expect to get this far north, and a couple bowls of wine was usually good enough to take his mind off any problem. But this was his sixth, and he felt nothing. Nothing. His balder was not even full. Continue reading “Broken Things 7.05 – Erik”

Broken Things 7.03 – Erik

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Author Note: For every 50 people that signup to my Mailing List, I will release an extra chapter on Thursdays. For a limited time only.

Between victory and defeat lies a single line.

—  ANCIENT PROVERB

Erik grimaced and pressed a hand to the hole in his belly, his head still ringing with echoes of his father’s voice. Crimson trickled down his fingers, but the wound was already half healed. It bled only because he wanted it to, needed it to maintain the illusion of his humanity. What he did, he did to protect his path to the throne, even now when all his plans lay ruined. Continue reading “Broken Things 7.03 – Erik”

Broken Things 7.02 – Erik

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Author Note: For every 50 people that signup to my Mailing List, I will release an extra chapter on Thursdays. For a limited time only.

Sometimes the lineage of our demons goes back many generations.   

— VILHELM ITO, TO ERIK

White tendrils rose from the torches that adorned the walls of the Great Hall, drifting past the faded war banners that swayed from a frayed robe until they pooled under the vaulted, soot-stained ceiling. Below, the hard stone of the chamber was ice cold beneath Erik’s knees, cold enough to make him gasp if his world were not collapsing in around him. Looking at Viscount Baldur leering visage, his time sense began to stretch until the man appeared to slow as he spoke. The wisps of smoke now rose in languorous swirls, like impossibly thin leaves falling in reverse. Continue reading “Broken Things 7.02 – Erik”

The Hills are Shadows 6.09 – Erik

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‘Tis the business of fools to wilt beneath failure, but the wise recognize it as the source of their strength.   

—  VILHELM ITO, TO ERIK

Erik awoke confused, gasping, struggling to separate the real from the imagined. His head rang, thick with torment pitched screams of the Dark One and the enchanted notes of a plucked instrument. He blinked watery eyes and caught sight of Hanna. She sat etched in the light of golden coals, a gilded zither draped across her lap, a haunting vision of feminine divinity. Her hands faltered, and notes turned sharp and piercing. Continue reading “The Hills are Shadows 6.09 – Erik”

White Fire 5.02 – Leon

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One true friend is more useful than a hundred brothers.

— ANCIENT PROVERB

Cries of “Murderer!” nipped at Leon’s heels as he bolted through Viscount Baldur’s private apartments, fear clawing at his throat. Though no stranger to the emotion, never had it seemed this insidious; it dug deep into his flesh, scratched at his bones. If not for the need to keep moving, he would have collapsed in sheer terror. This was the most daring part of Ypse’s plan, possible danger awaited at every turn, in the form of an invisible Lightbender, in the shape of a descending sword. And there was no telling until he felt the blade in his gut. No telling! Continue reading “White Fire 5.02 – Leon”