This grim occupation hadn’t been one Lesthel would have chosen. Through his life, Lesthel has been a soldier, a miner, a thief, a corsair and a murderer. It wasn’t until the council sentenced him to life in the deep halls that he’d found his true calling.
Vilyxnar ran a pallid, claw-tipped hand through his greasy white hair. He tapped the runes on the lower console, resetting the device with his other two hands.
I crawl out of the nest of my sleeping brothers and sisters, taking care not to wake any of them. I'm good at that, moving quietly, making myself unseen and…
Archon. It is a word that radiates power. Even the slave races comprehend it, in a fashion. Not the intricacies of our tongue, of course. But they understand. With its…
Jaryon lay sweating, his fitful mind questing for the calm of the craftworld. He felt himself a discordant note without its song, an aberration marring some foreign melody. The world…
The fingernails he runs across my thigh are tipped with neurotoxin. Yet I do not tense. I run my hands through his hair wearing rings that could slice him in…
Shepseskaf loomed over the dusty red sands as they slowly swallowed the bodies of the fallen. Articulated legs scuffed the rock beneath him as he waited, impatiently, for a report.…
The clouds burned as God forced its way through the atmosphere. He watched with awe, she watched with fear. He was Quinnus, Magus of the Congregation of the Exalted Sun, and she was Arbites Helena, of Cambridge Hive, 3rd Precinct.
Once more, Rulf rotated the blade in his hand, weighing the merits of murder. The medic ran a finger down the engraving on the hilt, ‘Suffer No Xeno,’ and rapped…
Created by potrace 1.16, written by Peter Selinger 2001-2019 Silver-paved queues, divided across three ornate wooden stands by Nightweave silk, covered the hall and filtered us all through. I was…