The Scribe A feeble flame flickered in the dark room, biting back shadows that wavered near the edge of the light. A small, clay bottle sat on a desk, a stained hand dipping a crooked quill again and again into the ink until well past midnight.The Scribe1 hour ago in Historical More Like This
The Scribe hunched over, his tired eyes squinting in the dim light, examining the day’s work. It kept him up for hours past what he appreciated, and made his hands ache. But complaining wouldn't change anything; no one paid much attention to him. Etching out the last word in a scrawl that he hoped wasn't too lazy, he lay down his quill. This book was finished and he could move on to the next.
“But not tonight,” he thought, stretching his arms over his head and massaging his hands. Finally he snuffed the lantern and made his way outside. The Scribe's eyes soon adjusted to the dark as he walked down the trail to his shack. The sky was clear and a bright, full moon c
Sorrow has Human HeartThe life of an exile was a hard and lonely one. He dropped his head into his hands, shoving the leather bound book aside. However much he attempted to make his place here, he never would find a home in the castle. He was respected by the castle inhabitants but it was a cautious respect. They suspected, even if they didn’t know for certain, that the name he used was a given one and not one of his own choosing. Little to know that the man they called Kenneth Beaton was not mortal. Or he had been such some twenty years ago.Sorrow has Human Heart16 hours ago in Historical More Like This
Most if not all of his memories of that former life had been stripped from him upon his exile. What fragments that remained were shadowy things, fleeting images. A full moon, a dark haired woman kneeling by the side of a stream bank and washing the blood from a man fallen in battle. A third; a blond man pursuing his prey on horseback by night. Their names and identities had been long since forgotten.
The cry had him starting, turning to see