Tag: fantasy

The Apostate Saint: Chapter 14 – The Leader of the People

Andrew Michael Miller2 Comments

"Last chance to give this madness up and go off to live a simple life as a singer in a tavern somewhere." Geilamir's nerves were apparent in his remarks to Alaric, a clear indicator that he was himself having second thoughts about the whole thing and projecting that upon him. All of this came about at such a maddening rate, it was only natural for them to experience cognitive whiplash. Just a week prior, Alaric's biggest problems were finding time to dedicate to his artistic interests and maintaining a rigorous training schedule while also studying the law so that he could one day succeed his father in the Senate.

The Apostate Saint: Chapter 13 – A Farewell to the City

Andrew Michael Miller2 Comments

Fridok still couldn't believe the sword he held in his hands was truly his own. The Soul-arm he had created through the will of the Son and the support of his new Daoine Farraige friend Art had captured Fridok's interest more than anything he had ever seen. It was long, much longer than the gladius he had purchased and lost in the melee, and it had a dull but noticeable glow at the tip and down the length of the edges of the blade. It had neat indentations all down the face of the blade that resembled a neatly laid stone wall, a feature that likely stemmed from his many years working for the stonemason. The blade was curved on both sides, similar to his gladius, but it was much, much longer. The most confounding thing about the blade for Fridok was how it seemed to have different weights depending on whether he was holding it in one hand or in both. In both cases, it was perfectly weighted and perfectly balanced for either one handed or two handed combat.

The Apostate Saint: Chapter 12 – The Bearer of Bad News

Andrew Michael Miller1 Comment

Alaric marched his charger through the streets without a word to anyone. Despite the stares and the questions and the whispered confusion of the onlookers standing in his way, Alaric had to report his failure to the Son. It would not be easy, and Alaric knew there were no words he could use to lessen the blow. Not only was the Spear stolen, the betrayer was someone whom the Son and Alaric had loved dearly. All of that now was thrown to the wind, and Alaric could not understand why Fridok chose to do the unthinkable. Vitus. Oh, Fridok, you fool. You have leapt into the abyss from which there is no return.

The Apostate Saint: Chapter 11 – The Art of the Sword

Andrew Michael Miller1 Comment

Fridok had thrust a fate worse than death upon a man who was simply trying to do his duty. Vitus Malleator was one of Alaric's men, a young and upcoming guardsman whose enthusiasm was his only sin. He should have known the dangers involved with attacking a man wielding a Soul-arm; these weapons were the main factor in why so many demons had been slain by the Crusaders. Their power extended into the realm of the spirits, and thus were able to not only kill the body but destroy the soul. Now, Vitus Malleator was ash and his soul was destroyed. There would be no salvation waiting for him. And it was Fridok who bore the blade that cut him down.

The Apostate Saint: Chapter 10 – A House with a Big Hole in it

Andrew Michael MillerLeave a comment

The walk home brought about a sort of ambivalence to Alaric's mind. Everything he had done today should have given him newfound confidence and a sense of great achievement, but something in the great mist of his mind nagged at him, limiting the upper range of his treble clef of satisfaction. It was as if the Nete string was broken on his harp. The song of victory ran through his ears, but something was certainly missing from the music - perhaps something that only a trained ear could hear. By the time he arrived home, that which was missing was all that Alaric could hear.