“In tight-eyed recollection, she told us of a swordmaster named Bodo Haddenwich, and made mention of the peculiar art he practiced. She named this art as ‘Blitzhau'”
“I declare without shame that I am neither a channel of the gods nor a mage of the academies. I am a witch of the old ways reclaimed.”
“You were the one who loved the ringing masses, cheers and stamping. You were the one who needed their racket to believe your own power.”
… though I dislike pushing the mental burden onto all of you, I’ve considered that perhaps instead of making this decision blind I should ask you readers.
Winter rains streamed down black bows and dribbled along emerald creepers. Somewhere downhill, through the storm-misted labyrinth of the bogs, a creature chirped deep from its gullet.
They stood upon rust-colored ground in a liminal space. Overhanging crags and shattered boulders filled it farther than the eye could see along its longest axis.
Roiling plumes, flecked by coursing shapes like obsidian shards, swam about a striated stony pathway. Dusky glows seeped through the encroaching clouds.
Right. Um. Let me start off by saying that I’ll try my best to stop this growing too weird. So, the primary developmental edit of The Necromancer and the Reaping Spear is done. It’s wonderful stuff and I’m proud of it. It’s just that I forgot to make time at any point in the past […]
(Editorial Note, Nov. 29 2020: I’ve left this post up for posterity, but if you haven’t already, you should read this one first: Making Points, Mental Health, and the Necromancer’s Vengeance Series (northbornsword.blog) –in short, yes, everything written and posted today on the 29th is something I was fighting myself over when I wrote and […]
Divari held back a whimper.
It was not for want of heartening beauty nor factual security that she hugged herself, sometimes, when she thought no one was looking. Her spirit did not abide here. It was caught elsewhere still.