The Campaign "Where is your...other?" Amelia could not help the furrow of her brow, though in truth she was not altogether confused. "I do not understand." "You of our brethren--- and sisters, I suppose---" began General Heidi, gesturing towards her unnecessarily, "of the north. There is an oath you must take in regards to the …
wotd. v
The Beginning of It All The guild had been easier to find than Amelia had expected. Given that she had never traveled to the south, Amelia decided to go against hunter travel norms and follow the road; she kept just a few paces from the broad, dirt path, wanting at least the cover of the …
noc. v
The Past General Kawthar spoke quietly, vehemently, his voice sinking into the once impenetrable walls of his fort. Malikai almost couldn’t differentiate when his words began and ended, though it could just as well have been her fatigue rather than the alien speech. “I can’t understand you,” Lawrence said airily. He was ignored; in fact, …
noc. iv
The Past Aldhein Fort was the only place between their armies and the southern capitol that posed a significant resistance to His Majesty’s campaign and victory; indeed, a majority of the orders of movement to the southern brigades came stamped with the gold flecked seal of Aldhein’s war room. The general’s strategy had kept Lawrence …
wotd. iv
The Beginning of It All Seated above the blackened forest canopy was the bluish print of the moon, a half-inked medallion, its watery edges tainting the vast reaches of the sky. Grey smudges of clouds drew themselves shyly across the stars, blurring but a few while the rest shivered from above. Their twinkled shards floated …
a quandary of memory
There is a Darwish poem about a place that becomes itself retrospectively, quietly where its image, its likeness in memory is stronger than the place itself. Dialectics, maybe a penchant for nostalgia but then, aren't myths our interpretation of history? Home isn't a landline the ocean wasn't blue, a gist is more than the sum …
january 1st, 2024
Years ago, I stumbled across a blog called Nostalgia on 9th Avenue. Back then, I was attempting the quite impossible task of teaching myself Japanese, and while it was admirable, painting the sweaty attrition of my summer days with the black strokes of kanji, orderly, tilted just so, I learned barely a fraction of the …
The-Bleu-Bivouac 