James Archbold
Stories (8/0)
The Problem With Goblins
Overall, Bryce had stolen tricker things. The hydra egg, that was tricky. Damn thing nearly ripped him in two. The Jewels of Alencia, those were difficult. Mostly because Alencia was still wearing them and no one told his crew that she was a vampire queen. And the less he thought about that keg of ale, the better. His leg still wasn’t at one hundred percent.
By James Archbold2 years ago in Fiction
Sign Here, Please
“A simple signature, and the world is yours.” The contract slid across the fine oak desk. Two long fingers held the corner, careful not to smudge the writing, which glimmered red on the parchment. Nikola stared. His hand throbbed, even after wrapping the cut in his moth eaten robe. A wave of nausea came over him, a side effect of the ritual. It had worked. Nine years Nikola had studied at the Ethereal Academy, and he had never earned a braid. Rumours followed him from failed class to failed class. They said he had no aptitude for magic, that his connection to the Stream was a lie. Faked his way in, they said, with trickery, bribes and seduction. The seduction rumour in particular aggravated Nikola. He could barely seduce his own hand. Still he had decided to show them. A ritual worthy of four braids! Nikola was ecstatic, bursting with pride and giddy with glee.
By James Archbold2 years ago in Fiction
Gods Do Not Die
“There weren't always dragons in the Valley.” The fire crackled, casting shadows across the deep folds of the sage’s face. He shuddered, the winter winds raking his frail frame, sinking into his bones. Still, it was the Frostmourn, and he must tell his tale, “At least, we didn’t call them dragons. We called them Gods. What else could they be?
By James Archbold2 years ago in Fiction
The Song Wept By His Mother
He thought it was a cook fire. The dark smoke, and the smell of charred meat spoke of dinner. Jennick smiled, it meant the hunters had returned and that meant there would be celebration. Tales would be told, and the bravest of hunters smothered in glory. After, there would be dancing, and the leafale would flow freely. With that warm courage in his veins, Jennick may even dance with Sorren. He kept his speed in check, he did not want his enthusiasm to make him look young in front of his father and the other hunters, and made his way to the centre of the village. The smoke was cloying. The smell burned his nostrils. This was wrong, there was corruption in these sensations that did not belong. Jennick heard wailing, cutting through the smoke to assail his ears. Maturity forgotten, the boy ran.
By James Archbold2 years ago in Fiction
Finding Your Tune
She wished he wouldn’t use incense. It was distracting - the earthy scent stuck at the back of her throat. The smoke would cling to her robe, and Neesa would smell like a forest for the rest of the week. Florin claimed it helped her to clear her mind and hear the Tunes, but she doubted it. How could she clear her mind when it was filling up with hazy smoke? What Tune could she possibly reach out to, that didn’t reek of a forest in bloom? Neesa hated the forest. Her whole life in Vinestop and she never really connected with the woods that surrounded them, cutting them off from the outside world. Ten years of staring out the window, fear gnawing at her like a wolf on bones. Perhaps twice a year, the forest would claim a life, or send some terrible animal out to try and destroy them. Neesa remembered Gerri’s father running out of that terrible weald, chased by a bear. He was exhausted, and the fool had not dropped the reams of fish that had attracted the predator in the first place. His pole tangled his feet and, betrayed by his livelihood, the man had fallen some thirty feet away from the village borders.
By James Archbold2 years ago in Fiction
Real Steel
There was a knock at the door. Impatient. It was much heavier than the usual tapping by Corvo. He opened his eyes and saw the flicker of dying candle light. Asleep at his desk, again. Ink slowly crawled along his arithmetic, ruining the his night’s work. The knocking intensified. Biezel straightened his desk, throwing the ruined scrolls into his fireplace. He stood straighter and tried to look regal. Wondering what the time was, the young prince walked over and opened his chamber door, hoping it was just Kareen, coming to say hello.
By James Archbold2 years ago in Fiction
Say Your Prayers
“Simply put, the gods are bastards.” That always gets their back up, people can’t really comprehend it. I think they come here for a laugh, thinking it’s a joke, that we don’t do what we say we do. The woman in front of me made gestures to ward off my evil, gave me a chuckle. Her disgusted face betrayed her noble upbringing, she was not used to a place like my office. Dirty, disorganised. I admit, it was getting pretty bad at the moment, Geri kept threatening to torch the place. Luckily, she was scared of what I might store here. Jokes on her, I wear all the really dangerous stuff.
By James Archbold2 years ago in Fiction