by Jim Stitzel | Jan 30, 2013 | Stories
This entry is part 1 of 5 in the series The Ruin of ShorelockeEifan Craille stands quietly in the ruins of the old town, leaning heavily on his staff. He is tired, weary from his long journey, but he has come too far to rest now. He permits himself several deep...
by Jim Stitzel | Jan 14, 2013 | Stories
This entry is part 6 of 7 in the series The Clockwork DesolationIt is the faintest glimmering of a spark. It floats in suspension in a bottle, the field it generates holding it equidistant from the surfaces that enclose it. It is an Ember, and it pulses gently,...
by Jim Stitzel | Jan 9, 2013 | Stories
This entry is part 5 of 7 in the series The Clockwork DesolationThe encampment is little more than a desiccated husk. What remains of the few tents still standing are tatters of canvas flapping from poles bent and twisted by some cataclysmic event. Much of the ground...
by Jim Stitzel | Jan 4, 2013 | Stories
This entry is part 4 of 7 in the series The Clockwork DesolationThe book lies on a table. Its pages are torn, tattered. The ink is faded, in places almost nonexistent. What ink remains, however, tells a chilling story. On the left-hand page is a diagram, the chemical...
by Jim Stitzel | Dec 17, 2012 | Stories
Germaine Ashencloake surveyed the wreckage of the room before him. Dozens of tiny figurines lay in shattered ruins across the floor. From what he could observe, each was unique. Germaine shook his head. A woodcarver carving in bone and ivory. Such things were simply...
by Jim Stitzel | Nov 14, 2012 | Stories
Slitherin’, slimy, goopy and grimy, up it comes from the muck. Tentacles waving, bottomless cravings, it drags her into the guck. [Originally posted at Ficly]
