fantasy
-
The inn door hinges creaked, drawing their attention to the shaft of light brightening the dim room. Fearchar sucked in his breath. “Get tae…plague…”
-
The winds blow across Old Man Storr. The mists settle about the lochs. Clouds trail across the high reaches. In the highlands, I am at home again. — in the year of our Lord 1692 At the end of his date, the dark bloom of ink sent the man in the deep red leather cloak…
Chapel Orahamm 