The return of fiction!
An old story that I decided to touch up and repost. Inspired by way too many nights of drunken longing and regret.
A flash fiction piece I wrote upon arrival in Portland. Fear not, it’s hardly autobiographical. Except for missing roti prata. That part is all too real.
Music is magic and magic is just another word for what small minds can’t explain, so what does that make writing?
They say the best cure for apathy is tragedy. I beg to differ – fright is a wonderful method for dissolving the unfeeling funk one falls in from time to time.
“Let every man with ears to listen, let him hear!” A Bard’s blessing, and his curse. No Bard alive is skilled enough to selectively choose who hears and who doesn’t when he starts singing, after all.
Sir Morwyn was murdered the day of the Great Retreat at Caer Erasleigh. It was told that Haunt Gravenor, younger brother to the ambitious Bishop of Cornwall was responsible…
Now again a member of the Fourth Wall, Mericet takes back up the fight on behalf of Albion, unsure of what Arawn has planned for him. However, the Rose Sword still glows with satisfaction with every new soul Mericet takes.
Mericet has found a loyal friend in the strange friar named Binge. Cold comfort that, as Binge is also one of the very number Mertel used to be of – the Fourth Wall. Can Mericet reclaim his old life as another person?
The Sword of Roses has revealed itself to Mertel, now Mericet, and a new day begins for Albion with the alliance of the Innconu. Mericet however still has to master the strange weapon, and learn to live as a different man.