The Demons’ Cry (Chapter 6) – Fantasy Series

Chapter 1 | Chapter 2 | Chapter 3 | Chapter 4 | Chapter 5 | Chapter 6

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She was there with him in the hazing flames. He watched her through blurred eyes, twirling in the smoke and colour, smiling through the glare. They reminded him of her. Not in the poetic fashion so alien to his heart, but in the heavy tug of sense memory. How often had they looked into fires together? They had faced down destruction and ruin. They had felt the heat and smelt the char, carried the burden of their own proficiency in death. It had hurt, it had weighed heavy, but they had borne it without fear because each had carried the weight of the other.

“It turns out, I’m really not that strong when I’m not standing on your shoulders.”

He drank again. He shook the ale down his shirt and coughed it in a mist on to the flames. He wondered how it would come for him this time. What would be first? The gavel of the favoured? The spitting torches of the mob? The tossing of what little he had from the only small corner of the world that was left to him? Yes, that seemed most likely. Homelessness would do for him first and the rest would come later, when he was forced to do what he must to survive. If you were here, it wouldn’t matter. We would laugh as we left and build again elsewhere, where we thought they couldn’t reach us. But they can reach us everywhere, sweetheart. And I’m tired of building.

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Fifteen Minute Fiction Challenge (The First Prophecy) – Writing Challenge

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It is time for another patented Sentient Ink Fifteen Minute Fiction Challenge. For those who haven’t seen our previous efforts, in Fifteen Minute Fiction, the Sentient Ink authors get fifteen minutes to write a piece of flash fiction. But that’s not all. The genre and title are randomly generated and we have to write a story around them. So read on, vote for your favourite, tell us what you think and, hey, why not give it a go yourself.

Random Genre: Urban Fantasy

Random Title: The First Prophecy

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The Vox – Fantasy Prose

The stone was cold to the touch. Even in such a hurry, with the sounds of Mrs Miles’ hurrying footsteps already fading, she stopped dead when she saw them. In the midst of these massive and strange caves, her eyes found a familiar sight. Everywhere she looked, there were shapes and pictures carved into the limestone walls, some childish and jolly, others works of art, but this one held her full attention. The hairs on her arms and neck stood on end. Her fingers brushed a dozen small indentations in the stone, birds with razor sharp beaks and talons, not a flock of gulls or a murder of ravens, but a swarm of vox, something she hadn’t seen for three years.

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The Augustine Bells – Fantasy Poem

Today on Sentient Ink, something a little different. Following on from D.C. Ward’s Tale of Armless Tom, here is a poem of my own from my fantasy universe. A well-known ditty, it tells the story of the Augustine Bells, which act as a call to arms for all who are loyal to the Aurelians and Aurelia, the militarised realm they rule, charged with defending the empire.

 The Augustine Bells:

By Ancus Novian

 Sound the bells, the Augustine bells,

That stir the heavens and stun the hells,

‘tis the musical backdrop to empires felled,
To pirates defeated, to uprisings quelled,

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The Yesterday Key – Fantasy Short Story

By D. C. Ward

She snatched it greedily from his bony fingers. A trifurcated key of white gold, encrusted with smooth black letters and a glass window on its bow. Within the window, gently flowing clouds of both white and grey rotated. Jagged cuts ran down each of the three shafts; so many sharp protrusions it may have made a fine weapon. It was a beautiful key.

All of her most joyful memories, and all of her most torturous nightmares, now lay flat in her palm. She felt a power in it, like that of an approaching storm; hairs she didn’t know existed on the back of her hands stiffened and shivered her skin. Ani stared at the key, and then up at the iron door. Should it not be guarded by more than those spiders?

“I do not understand?” she said.

“My lady,” began Ralk, gazing up and down Ani’s body with his usual look of amorous hunger, “the Thaumaturge have been restless, but have finally found a way for you to forget what happened that night. That is what you want, is it not? You will find on the other side the scene as you remember, of your father as you found him after his murder.”

“How do I use it?”

“It is a key, my lady. It works as all keys do.”

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The Demons’ Cry (Chapter 5) – Fantasy Series

By Chris Wright

Chapter 1 | Chapter 2 | Chapter 3 | Chapter 4 | Chapter 5 | Chapter 6

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Ryda had seen healthier looking mares dragged from the Dalsta River after the drunken celebrations of Horseman’s Day. They had the look of two butcher’s sacks – all bones with only the merest missed bits of meat and gristle. Patchwork fur of brown and grey stuck like weeds from the discoloured skin of the nearest, while its mate seemed to have been shaved entirely, or else grown bald through age or lack of effort. Ryda expressed these views frankly to the sheriff, who responded with a look and a thrown saddle to the gut.

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Fifteen Minute Fiction Challenge (Final Children) – Writing Challenge

By D.C. Ward, Chris Wright and Andy Wright

Sentient Ink Logo-01The second Fifteen Minute Fiction Challenge sees all three Sentient Ink authors pitted against each other for the first time. That’s three authors with only a randomly generated genre and title to prompt fifteen minutes of writing. The clock stops for nothing, so that’s planning, writing and any internet searches. Please let us know how you think we did by commenting or voting for your favourite.

Random Genre: Fantasy

Random Title: Final Children

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The Demons’ Cry (Chapter 4) – Fantasy Series

By Chris Wright

Chapter 1 | Chapter 2 | Chapter 3 | Chapter 4 | Chapter 5 | Chapter 6

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The painted red sign inside the sheriff’s office helpfully informed Ryda that he was in Kelsa Tur. The name was familiar and he pondered upon it as he scratched at the irritated skin of his manacled wrist. He wasn’t manacled to anything, which was always nice when he found himself in these situations, but his wrists and ankles were chained together, forcing him to sit uncomfortably upright in the stiff wooden chair. The seat opposite, across the stark and creaking table, was vacant as the sheriff stood fiddling with files across the room. Kelsa Tur. No, it was no good. He’d barely been listening when the captain had told his crew of the colonies and he couldn’t be bothered to think deeper on it. Still, it was nice to know.

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The Walk of Shadows: Footsteps – Fantasy Prose

Greetings people of the internet! This is chapter 2 of my fantasy novel The Walk of Shadows, in all its 340 word glory. It’s a very short and descriptive piece that gives you the slightest of glimpses into the story. I haven’t posted chapter 1, and I don’t plan to, as I’m going to try to get it published once it’s finished, but you don’t need to read it to follow and enjoy this passage. I would appreciate any and all comments and feedback.

Best wishes,

Andy Wright

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