Recent content by Isander

Isander, finding himself small and muddied of eyes, recoiled from the sudden touch at his arm. The flutter of a gasp lilted from him, higher in pitch than he thought his voice could cast. He shuddered with the lifting veil; the cabin shattered around them, alight with the remnants of a dream...

Isander, given scant time to catch his breath, made haste in gathering his spear and shaking loose the waterlogged fabric that accosted him. Gait staggered and quick, he took oar in hand and followed his companions into the canoe. Once they joined the second hunting party, he found his arms...

Ekaterina preened over the acorn, a mewling pleasure torn from her throat. Less than a laugh, tenor but shy of a growl. She unfurled, shoulders like wings crooked to envelope the fixture of light that no longer warmed the room. In its stead lay a silt film, a grain that crossed the timbered...

The Village of Virspoke Isander breathed, gaze locked on the spire. Its peak crested high, where an astral soup illuminated an empty sky. Cowled full in anathema dusk, occluding the once lustrous moons. Bereft their somber dance, desperate for a kiss of normalcy on this frenetic eve, the...

"Indeed?" Isander found pause, hammer falling short of the fence. His hands stilled, hesitant in the motion of driving down that stake. He came close to fumbling there, hands thick and clumsy about the work, eyes fixed on his companion's words and then upon the freshly opened wound. "Here,"...

Run ragged at the end of his breath, Isander gasped and cut into a charge at the ice witch's cry. His trot came thick, cloth heavy about him, weighted by the bog's drink, furthered with the squelch of his boots in the wake of each torpid leap. Bare hands clenched within the coil of gauntlets...

Their merry few: a pair of knights in asynchronous pursuit, squires paired yet green about the collar to stand in defiance of uncertain odds. The scouting reports and farmer's gossip colluded little in the way of solid fact. Perhaps a dozen of the brigands roamed hereabouts, no more than thirty...

The roar drew Isander back. Like a dog fresh from drink, he shook himself off and fumbled for his spear; he found it there, slinking into the murk. In clutching for it, he found a handful of grainy pebbles that clung to the outer layer of his gauntlet. He spat. He stood. He disembarked from...

The Village of Virspoke At the sudden cry was Isander torn from his reverie. He sagged, knees slumping into the brackish murk. Exhaustion rolled over him, stole a breath he could scarce afford. He shuddered with it, comporting some semblance of human expression onto him. A blink refocused...

Ekaterina's face cracked in a long toothed grin, flesh drawn taut and pale to match the glint in her gaze. Her fingers unfurled, twitching apart as the nails clicked together. She was leaning in closer to Farren, suspended in between the knights with a gentle crook to her neck. "And what price...

The Village of Virspoke His spear had long since snapped, leaving Isander's hands slick beneath his gauntlets and filled with the nearest sword or hammer or cudgel in reach. He lost track of the bodies that fell upon him, of the wounds that pierced maille and leather and flesh, of the time...

Isander's feet fell a tumble, and he found himself scrambling to keep abreast of the beast's lashing tail; a chitter of teeth and shell on bramble and reed, of rock and debris kicked up and clattering against maille. It threatened to catch him off balance, his spear slicked with brackish blood...

Early Spring, 373 Valen Wilds, 3 Days from the Tree The mottled gray of falling dusk cleft Isander's brow in shadows. It suited his mood. That dark cast made mirror of him, for he had come on business bleak as it was cold. Poachers this side of the Spine, spilling the blood of babes and...

"Warmth, the absence of it," Isander said, nodding along. The rhythmic thud of hammer on wood brought him to a comfortable reverie, thoughts slipping and words tumbling from a tongue accustomed to the silence of isolation. He reflected on it, eying his companion all the while. Part of him...

Another stake pounded into the dirt, another slake of sweat flicked from Isander's brow. Hammer on nail on wood played into the dawning choir. It sparked as the fire that sung within his soul, warmed him to fingertips as he continued on with the work. It echoed on in silent reply to Saskia's...