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Weekly Contest #359
The men I used to ride with through the ravines of Broken Vale swore I’d end up rotting from a watchman’s arrow, and my own kin said I’d be begging at their hearths inside three winters when they left the scarp for the easy grain of FelaDown. Well, they were wrong, the lot of them. Thirty years since I traded the sins of my youth for a shepherd’s crook, and even though my knees gripe every time the weather turns, I’m still breathing. The clay pot digs into my ribs beneath my cloak, shielded from the bitter wind. It’s the first twilight of De...
Weekly Contest #357
The fog in Eight Bells didn’t just cloak Caurithène; it swallowed it whole. It rolled off the bay thick as wool, smothering the clang of the shift-bells and leaving the air tasting of brine, dead fish, and wet soot. I kept my lockpicks moving anyway. In Caur’ten, you learn to work blind, or you don’t eat.“Hurry it up, Nym,” Fennick hissed from the doorway. He shifted his weight from boot to boot, wringing the wet out of his cap. “Watch patrol is due. If they see us…”“They won’t,” I muttered, pressing my ear to the lock. “Watch don’t walk pas...
Weekly Contest #356
The reek of boiling Scaelith fat hung thick in the storm-whipped air, a greasy stench of slaughter that clung to the back of the throat. Elara knelt on the salt-burned stone of the headland. She shuddered, the stuttering rhythm in her chest pounding through the roar of the Gulf of Nordred. Below her, the cove was a death trap. For weeks a rip tide had ignored the moon, churning the black water, dragging fisher-skiffs into the jagged reefs of the Keldrun Shelf.The storm tore at her oiled cloak, but the trembling in her hands had nothing to do...
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