Engin sees something he does not understand

25th December 1102

Engin_Kelgar_Osras_1

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Darina has a Christmas visitor

25th December 1102

Cindra_Darina_Harndall_1

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Cindra sees a world distorted

25th December 1102

Cindra_73

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Radomir has an empty Christmas

24th December 1102

Radomir_27

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Harndall finds the strength

17th November 1102

catacomb_skulls_2

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Harndall speaks a prayer

17th November 1102

She lay before him, her face soft and peaceful as in sleep. She looked newly dead, the last vestiges of life draining from her pallid skin. He knew better.

Mella_28

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Beneath the ruins

17th November 1102

“Bring the torch closer so I can see”, barked Lochan.

Obligingly Noah knelt, the flickering light of the flare casting eery shadows over the weathered tiles.

Noah_20

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They go down below

17th November 1102

Tiny flakes of snow swirled through the chill air netting themselves in the heavy weave of Harndall’s cloak which was already sodden with their melting bodies. Behind them the hollow shell of the ruined church loomed, blackened arches curving upwards like the ribcage of some giant rotting creature.

All around him were men, men with swords, their sharp edges menacingly slicing through the soft forms of the unfortunate snowflakes whose suicidal trajectories intersected them.

The_men_ruined_church

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Garald confesses

8th November 1102

Garald chewed nervously at his nail as he walked. He always picked at his nails when he was worried or upset. It proved a good distraction from whatever it was he did not want to think about.

The wick had come away at the side and he nipped clumsily at it trying to cut it off at the base. He only succeeded in pushing it in the wrong direction, causing a stab of pain that made him want to give up.

Garald_7

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Harndall finds no comfort

Ominous rain-laden clouds dangled above them, black and swollen, pressing their heavy weight down to engulf the rising crags of the mountain. The wind whipped at the exposed hillside, rattling through the dead trees their brittle branches creaking balefully at the disturbance. The air was thick with a dank, clammy mist that seeped in underneath the skin to chill their very hearts.

Harndall shivered drawing his arms around his body as the bitter wind tore at the heavy material of his robe. The crumbling remains of the old church clung to the mountainside behind him, like some rearing arachnid, the broken stained glass of its many eyes fixed on Harndall as it shifted its buttressed legs.

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