Stories
Fiction & Micro-FictionChance Encounter
The ship is an ancient rustbucket, and it looks as though it has been here since time immemorial. It was probably a fighter once upon a time, but it is difficult to tell. Time has worn its identity away, and the foliage has overgrown it so that it is little more than...
Forward Unto Destiny
Traxis packs the last of her gear into her satchel and snaps the buckle closed. She hoists it over her head and settles the strap over her right shoulder, reaching behind her to adjust the satchel until it rests comfortably in the small of her back. Her Hunter's cloak...
Benediction
Broken and blistered, We healed our surrogate world, Piece by bloody piece. Overbearing brutes, We forced you to accept us 'Til nothing remained. Reluctant mother, We did the unthinkable; You gave us rebirth. [Originally posted at Ficly]
Arrival
Eifan 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 breaths. The salty sea air refreshes him, but only a little. He...
Ember
It 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, hungrily. It has memories, of a sort, quantum states that hold the...
The Coil
The 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 here has been blasted into red glass and slag, but there are...
The Logbook
The 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 structure of a molecule labeled, simply, Nightmare. Then, a...
Little Broken Gods
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...
Monster
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]