Author Leah Storme

What's better than sharing a world close to the heart, one which has been kindled and tended to like a stable, comforting flame? Look forward to these original stories, or if they don't suit your tastes, know that you will be supporting an indie creator whether you spread the word, critique or give some likes.

THE BEGINNING TO A NECROMANTIC TALE OF NETHER AND BLOOD

Sample #2 from Nekara: Specters of the Urizjai (coming soon)

“You see,” he said as he began to circle around me like a vulture, “the power you hope to have is a very fragile and accursed desire. It is nothing to gloat or use so liberally. Necromancy is a counterpoise sorcery, abnormal, unnatural, and not for the faint of heart.” Then he stopped his hunt, standing at the drying puddle of his shadowy essence.

More like the fading of a formless specter vanishing around the darkest corners.

I glowered from under the strands of my hair, theorizing in silence and perspiration. “Is that why you bled yourself?” I asked in a whisper, enfeebling in his shadow. “Exchange blood for darkness.”

He shook his head, ashamed. “I don’t know anyone else in this world that would want to learn it as desperately as you. You’d be a fool for wanting a life of pain and nightmare—an eternal one at that, and for what, a couple of friends?”

Something came over him as he roamed around the palace vestibule, stepping on ivory marble flooring, orange stars and gold weaving lines. The chains loosened, yet I still wasn’t allowed to move, giving me time to reconsider my life choices imagined upon the lustrous walls.

If what he warns is true, maybe I should give up. I don’t even know if I am attuned properly, or truly designed to be a sorceress. If the laws of magic lock such desires behind inherited spiritualistic skills, then I have no choice but to leave my past and alter goals. Or remain a scholar… and nothing but one.

The chains dimmed and sunk into the floor like burrowing serpents, disappearing with the small pool of unholy essence. I trembled as I scuffled to the doors and nudged one just a sliver open. “Your warnings are clear,” I said, quivering. “I shouldn’t be here.”

“Principles of Thaumaturgy,” he stated suddenly as he held it shut. I sensed doom between the lines, in his low and ominous tone. “Urizen’s Laws act as the city’s cage, and as well as yours. A soul is eternal, and if it be so within our vessel of flesh, thaumaturgy reigns with the blood of the stars. The arcane is as dangerous as necromancy, if not more. If you really are a mage, haven’t you heard?”

Confused and terrified, I tried to push it back open. “I haven’t.” Hollowfang not only had intimidating intelligence, but a warrior’s staggering strength. He had won control.

As if he doesn’t want me to go. Has he changed his mind to let me live? Or kill me in this very sacred hall?

I dared stare into the hooded void. “When you asked for my name, was that not a curse?”

“Camanerion Circle student-mage,” he started to mock my ignorance, then transitioned to a slick and mindful appreciation. “It was intimidation. But if you felt anything… then the darkness must know your name as it does mine.”

I imagined a playful smile or obnoxious smirk at the last of his words. “Explain to this lacking student-mage, then.”

“As a precaution, the city is bound to me, and those who enter are bound to it. We’re all incapable of leaving Urizen, as it has been so for three-hundred and fifty years. ‘Twas a spell to ensnare my brother, who I speculate keeps sending lackeys to finish me off. They keep trapping themselves for the sake of gaining something.” Hollowfang leaned in closer. “Lackeys like you, if I am not mistaken.”

Returning to his usual courtly stance, he removed himself from the doors and stayed his wounded arms behind his back, then breathed a deep sigh as he strode for another room to pace. “Unfortunately, those spells were undesirable sacrifices that had to be made.”

I felt unable to move, frozen in place and time. Shuddering at the thought I’d never see the rest of Ashimtu again, my heart wrung as I lingered near a corner statue of a robed woman. I sat at the base, thinking for a moment, waiting for tears to stream down.

Sample #1 from Dark of Bifrost (WIP)

The mirror faced Helan, tall and dark as it reflected her pale and weary countenance. Black strands of hair glued to her cheeks with cold sweat, taking on another panic attack. Her hand frantically itched at the cybernetic, blood clinging to the underside of her nails.

She trembled, trying to take deep breaths, ceasing the picking and scratching so that she could run the faucet full blast. The cold jet of water rinsed away bits of skin and red fluid.

Not enough to rid the feeling of grimy experimentation and sickening violation; it was time for a shower. Surely one would soothe, at least a little.

I have to figure out my next steps, how to get proof to the police—hell, even the Council—and get TriLight Labs in a deep pit of mud. But how, how—how? I’ll sound like a lunatic on my own.

Entering the shower stall, naked and freezing, Helan closed the door and activated its opaque mode with the immediate press of a button. With another, adjacent and scaled larger, she enabled the flow of calming gentle streams, pouring on her like sweet cleansing rain.

Her heart slowed to a more relaxed pulse, as indicated by the shadowing red health statistics in the corner of her vision. Bioelectronics were no doubt playing their part well in connection to her brain. It would be impossible to remove without the involvement of yet another surgeon.

“Damnit,” she whispered alone.

But inside, she knew well enough that wasn’t true. As a matter of fact, her internals were evident of it, still aware of the presence of virtual activity. The very thought seemed to conjure the AI, summoning a slow but arriving and familiar darkness. And at its spider-like touch on her thoughts, she shivered.

A warm sensation crept through her nervous system, instilling sudden surges of relief and certainty. She sighed, unsure of whether she did in response to the natural feeling or to the idea of bodily manipulation.

Sample #1 from Nekara: Specters of the Urizjai

Without another complaint, he dove the cindering blade into her abdomen. She screamed and struggled as it singed her insides, until he sliced upwards, cutting nicely through bone and vital organs—efficient to silence, however cruel.

I cringed, looking away to save a mind already scarred. We stepped past the corpses, leaving them to the hungering scorpions, thankful they were keen on consuming what was given than taking my life. It was likely the tiny meal provided would not satiate such giants. I prayed they wouldn’t come looking for me next, but then again, there would be plenty to pick from among the battle’s aftermath outside.