For twenty seven years I lived a strange and unimaginable life, and one morning I woke up divorced from life. I was awake.
I wish I could go back to sleep
Which is the greater magic; that which can sink a castle into the earth or that which can make the world's greatest sandwhich?
The great paradoxes of the Universe is that everything follows almost exactly the same course, yet in doing so, is somehow still unique and with importance and value.
The confessions of an unlucky A.I.
The Diary of young girl who finds herself trapped in purgatory, searching salvation and trying to make sense of that which is deliberatly insane. (A prelude to the entry found in my Chasers submission.)
Ideally the creatures described within this (ongoing) sub will be detailed in turn as their own seperate submissions eventally painting a complete picture of purgatoy.
This a post apocalypse adventure/horror novel, the prologue of which I’m putting up here and will be updating with further chapters.
Rated R for graphic violence and some profanity.
This feeling grows inside you, this feeling like an eternal flame. Something that makes you want to wake up in the morning, but one that wont let you sleep.
A Sci-fi tale surrounding a Earth force captains first command and battle against an unknown alien race.
This is the first 2 1/2 chapters of my on going Battlefield promotion novella, I have attempted to blend third and first person writing together in a smooth natural fashion, and strived to keep true to the details of space as it’s understood by modern astronomy today.
It may be a bit slow to pick up the pace in the beginning, but it does gain momentum.
For those who are curious I’d consider this story to be rated PG-13 or R due to descriptive violence.
The village sits on the edge of the deep fjord, often engulfed in mist or rain. Its people are fishermen, who work even through the sea-ravaging winter. And they pray to the gods of the deep.
At the beginning of every winter they hold a summoning ceremony. Three boats are taken out into the fjord, a hornsman on each. The mournful horns are blown in the language of the whales, the gods of the deep. The whales sometimes appear in answer to these calls, and it is taken as a good omen when they do.
To a party of PCs wandering the misty hills and valleys nearby however, the doleful whalesong of the horns can be disturbing and misinterpreted...