The Messenger Magpie
Bio
Hey everyone,
I'm Ben, one half of a writing team from World of Darkness's fan zone, the Storyteller's Vault, calling ourselves S&B. If you like what I post, keep up-to-date with my writing here. .
https://www.facebook.com/messengermagpie
Stories (8/0)
Gods' Death Saga
She gathers together her wyrd sisters and the village's mothers, but tries not to look at them. They're daughters she'll never see and wives she'll never be, a choir of women there to sing their grandmothers' old-songs. We are already with them. We sleep in the stool she sits on and dwell within her beating staff. We buzz through the air to snatch glimpses and watch from the rocks, we play through the goats, and lie atop the rolling mists. Everyone from their village has gathered to hear her speak our words, while we are just out of view. The Jarl's partner brings her berries and honeyed breads; she claims it's better to summon us.
By The Messenger Magpieabout a year ago in Fiction
Gods' Deaths Saga
You approach the circle, broad with purpose, rehearsed in form, confident and bold. A tale coiled within your limbs, ready to unfurl, and your namesake's pelt runs down your spine. This saga is young, but it is yours, Wolfe's, the only tale your mother taught you. Hrothgar, your uncle proud, calls Hackett forward to become foul Grendel.
By The Messenger Magpieabout a year ago in Fiction
Gods' Deaths Saga
'The Girdle of the Realm is straining beneath our feet; I think Jörð must be pregnant again!' Our captain, Jacob, sees a storm blooming ahead. He does one of the only things Jacob can do in times of danger; He jokes about someone fucking a goddess.
By The Messenger Magpieabout a year ago in Fiction
Princess Leia
My wife and I adopted our little kitten at only six months old, from the charity Cats Protection. We recently moved into our first place and felt that it was a little quiet, we loved it, but wanted to share it with someone, so off to the sanctuary, we went!
By The Messenger Magpie3 years ago in Petlife
Cask Crusade
Cask Crusade Part One In a small southern hamlet bordering that great old wood, with trees who uproot and reclaim any newly trodden paths, a tavern sat upon the highest hill watching over its neighbours. As unremarkable as the village was in most regards, this one establishment had earned the respect of oath-sworn warriors and profiteering traders alike for the quality of its in-house ale, which was inferior to the Dynasties’ fine vintages but surpassed all expectations of a landlord’s craft. Through a near nationwide desire for this refreshing brew and a need to escape the crashing rain on this particular day, the alehouse was full and remained that way until the closing bell rang. Two bands of contrary individuals chose to ignore the bell that night in favour of further drinking. The first was a sorrowful pairing who drank to forget, and the other was a revelrous bunch who drank to remember. The regretful duo sat in solemn silence, the oldest between them was a great champion sworn to a local self-entitled regent. Accompanying him was his young apprentice, who only shared a fraction of her commander’s regret. He drank his fill more than an hour before the bell sounded but insisted on finishing the pint he had to hand. The younger soldier, however, had barely imbibed that night and still kept a clear head about her.
By The Messenger Magpie3 years ago in Futurism
An Evening's Drink
An Evening's Drink I knew I wouldn't be decent until the evening. He’d pestered me, “let me treat you to dinner,” but I told him, “another time, maybe.” He seemed disheartened, but his mood, or at least the mood of his messages, perked up when I invited him over for an evening drink.
By The Messenger Magpie3 years ago in Horror
Turn Back, Travelers
Rust-littered sand crunched under Bethani’s feet as she marched across the barren vista sprawling out ahead of her. Deep red starlight beamed down, stifled only by her thick infrared visor, while the planet’s harsh winds lashed against her legs in an endless attempt to sweep her off her feet. She gazed across the desiccated landscape and sighed, dropping her duffle bag and listlessly looking around for a smooth rock to sit on. The Ink was creeping into her father's agri-patch again and, surprise surprise, Beth was the first to be called to arms. Honestly, she didn't mind that it happened to be her responsibility each and every time, in her books, any time spent away from home was time well spent. What she did mind, though, was her sister getting the keys to their family's only truck just to go out and ‘watch the geysers blow’, leaving poor Beth to make the trip on foot. She sighed and stopped off for a much-needed rest on her journey toward servitude.
By The Messenger Magpie3 years ago in Futurism
