This one actually happened in play, at my second event. Sorry if it is a tiny bit FOIP - shouldn't be too bad and was ages ago. I don't have enough "deaths for nine and don't play a wemic, but this is inspired by those writings.

Edward walked back towards the Forge’s tents, but one man by his side - unidentifiable in the dark. His thoughts were ( Read more... )

OK, the Story Game.

I *think* I get how this works: apparently, you comment on this choosing three of the words below, and then I write a short story involving those three words, and our characters.

This may get difficult, especially given my writing style and the Mill-en/Freiboden divide, but I'm willing to give it a try. Damn you oxfordgirl.

Pick ( Read more... )

Edward walked towards Balthazar’s tent with his heart in his mouth. Not for years had he felt so close to tears as this, he all but trembled as he moved. His knuckles were white as he gripped his shield.

If she was dead, he didn’t know what he’d do. At the merest thought a cloud of black rage and despair threatened to swallow his mind, and he ( Read more... )

Edward strode into the bar, stormy-faced and angry. Tonight was not going to go well, but Edward didn’t care. There was a burning hole in his soul, and its cayse lay ill and near death but a hundred yards from where he stood. Tonight, he was going to get drunk. Tonight, he was going to forget.

A familiar figure sat near the bar. Olrich von ( Read more... )

Edward came over the crest of the low hill first, running at an easy lope despite the scorching heat and the heavy pack on his back. Behind him came a tall wemic, near to staggering and panting hard. Tall, she looked to have grown leaner over the days she had spent with him, some of the fleshiness of her features was gone. And yet she looked ( Read more... )