Tag: writings

The Apostate Saint: Chapter 7 – The Broken

Andrew Michael Miller2 Comments

Just like that, the only thing in Fridok's life that mattered to him was gone. He held the pieces of the blade in his hands, staring at them in disbelief. The registrar was right - Fridok was sold a poorly made weapon. What a fool he had been. All of the coins he had starved himself to stash away for so many years might as well have been thrown over the wall. The blade had failed when he needed it most. He lost, and now, despite the fact that the Son had taken pity on him, his inclusion was a consolation and nothing more. He was a warrior without a weapon, and outside of charity, there would be no way for him to afford another.

The Apostate Saint: Chapter 6 – The Grand Melee

Andrew Michael Miller2 Comments

Swordplay was not Alaric's greatest love. Sure, it was good exercise and he was a natural at it, but it was all just a distraction from the arts - music, in particular. His parents weren't fond of his obsession with playing music, painting and sculpting, but Alaric was obedient to their will, so he was able to pursue his true passion in his spare time without too much objection. Still, it always seemed that the more he did to make them happy, the more they expected out of him. The pace was quickly becoming unsustainable. They wanted a son who was all man, all the time, and that meant that anything that didn't fit in their idea of manhood didn't really have a place in Alaric's life. Winning the melee exhibition was the only feasible opportunity Alaric would have to finally have some breathing room.

The Apostate Saint: Chapter 4 – At the Foot of the Stairs

Andrew Michael Miller1 Comment

"Alaricus, are you deaf or are you choosing to ignore me?" demanded Valoricus, Alaric's father, in the overbearing tone he had adopted toward him in the years since his older brother Quintus had died. Alaric stopped his singing and rested his fingers on the lyre strings, thinking about how to best respond this time. He knew better than to ignore his father, and Alaric sensed real concern in his father's inflection. "Is everything alright, father?" he responded just loudly enough, wrapping his response in his typical charm that worked on everyone else in the City except for his father. "No," his father bit back, louder. "You must come here at once!"

The Apostate Saint: Chapter 3 – The Stones

Andrew Michael Miller1 Comment

Nineteen years before the betrayal The hardy young laborer Fridok wiped sweat from his brow and drank the bitter and sandy water from his banged-up, dingy tin canteen. He tried and failed to tune out the foreman squawking insults at the other stone workers. Those kids wouldn't cut it in this hard vocation; they would have to find something else to do for their wages. Pity. Stone work was decent pay for someone of Fridok's station. It would never elevate his status in the City, but it would keep his belly full and his hands busy. He couldn't hope for more than that. The Walls kept the demons outside at bay, but did nothing to address the invisible demons that… Continue reading The Apostate Saint: Chapter 3 – The Stones

The Apostate Saint: Chapter 1 – The Spear and the Sword

Andrew Michael Miller1 Comment

The careworn veteran of the Crusades could no longer distinguish the far-off incessant bustle of the Beneficia festival-goers from the forever-agonized gnashing of the lesser demons who still crawled through the lands. Such was the state of the man who foolishly agreed to set off from the White Walled City without stature or status, who survived his many tours only to gain short-lived, hollow praise. He received only a fleeting fraction of the reward that was promised to the veterans. His noble brothers-in-arms didn't enjoy the same discouragement. Lucky them.