Wire Run - Protest

Wire Run - Protest

"They deserved better." Were words found graffitied on a concrete wall beneath the overpass in the rain. And the words were true, red paint stain running down into a black drain.

But truth did not justice make.

Despair - Drown

Despair - Drown

On this empty point out on the edge of the ocean, beneath a starless sky, I have scrawled the words "I have come here to drown" in the sand, and watched the tide wash the letters away.

West Marches - Losing

West Marches - Losing

It had all gone sideways.

It wasn’t that surprising. Tirondian army tactics were hardly inspired. Form ranks, march forwards, eliminate things that stand in the way. Oh, bring siege weapons if necessary.

Works great when you fight opposing armies. Less so when your enemies are giant horrors of paint, or the corrupted twisted versions of your own soldiers. Fat lot of good a siege tower does against a painted horde.

Now, Sedriks ran through the woods, they’d lost touch with the cavalry a few hours back, horses spooked and the Captain had ordered them rounded up. Sedriks, and his command knew better. Three dozen was all that was left of their outrider wing, what should’ve been close to two hundred light and medium infantry. Harried at every turn, they’d retreated into a guerilla skirmish through the night.

Writing - Rynyalla: Kanilay In The Dark

Writing - Rynyalla: Kanilay In The Dark

If darkness was a lover then it was one she knew well. Coiled and shifting, it wreathed its way around her, holding fast as the unearthly ship’s prow plunged onwards. Behind her, the crew moved with an unflinching accuracy, even in the pitch of unnatural night. The creak of sinuous rope and the buckle and grate of bone beneath the feet were the only sounds to accompany the slow lap of waves beneath.

In the distance glittered the jewel of the Eastern world. Myrefall. Ships fled their approach, tacking hurriedly and dashing away across the waters, fleeing for some safe harbour. There were no such places. Her fleet arrayed out behind her, a mental command as the rows of ships fell into formation.

The thump of booted feet approached behind her. A minotaur guard, clad in dull green platemail, his seven foot frame of rippling muscle bent in subjugation. “My lady. Landfall approaches.”

She waves one hand dismissively, he retreats. Clearly she can see beyond sight the city, even with the mask adorning her face. Instead, she raises a finger as though to hush the darkness...and speaks.

“Cull the city. Bring me the tribute that our lady seeks.”

Waves crash, and bodies groan, and the fleet pushes forward.

And Kanilay waits in the dark.