3am - 6am_Monsters on New Year's_Root and Branch_The Stenographer
Catalog Guide:
3am - 6am
Sam bolted upright in his bunk, his head missing the deckhead by millimetres as he swept his legs over to thump down on the floor and find his phone to turn off the alarm before it woke up his bunk mates.Snooze? No, off completely. Sam put his silenced phone under his pillow as the curtain closest to him twitched... The body inside groaning, rolling from one side to the other before settling back in. Sam let out a breath, that hadn’t really worked had it. He was sure everyone was awake now, so carefully picked up his gear before shuffling out of the door into the galley. One foot stretched out...
Monsters on New Year's
“That’s it, I’m finished!” Calix announced as he entered the abandoned warehouse. Black blood dripped from his clothes onto the concrete floor. “I swear it, Allard. No more prophecies or monsters or fate. I’m done with it all!” Allard came rushing as fast as his ragged leg would allow. An injury he had sustained years ago from a similar beast Calix had bested tonight. A beast that had punctured his new armor within moments and ruined his celebration. Allard quickly stopped as he took in the picture of his friend, wincing at the sight. “What the hell did you fight tonight?” ...
Root and Branch
Everything was ready for the ritual; the five clerics of the vengeful and unforgiving Xyagii, greater god of slanderous lies, encircled an oblong, obsidian altar upon which was sprawled a naked and pregnant figure. With her back to the rigid polished stone and her wrists and ankles bound to the floor by taut and stout steel chains, the woman arched her spine in terror and dismay as the red-robed high priest in his snarling obsidian mask raised a viciously curved ceremonial dagger and chanted his perilous, guttural incantations to the deity of deceit. The interior www.onedoor.ccwalls of the cylindrical templ...
The Stenographer
She looks young. Twenty-three, maybe? I’m biased, of course-- she reminds me of my youngest sister a bit. It’s the hair, I think, or maybe the clothes-- nice enough, but a little poorly fitting, like she’d gone out with her mother before starting the job and bought anything that seemed business casual enough to wear in a government building. “Marianne, right?”She shrugs, as if she isn’t sure. She’s still shaking. “You can call me Annie, I guess. Everyone does.” “Alright, then, Annie, why don’t you have a seat.” I tried to pick a room that didn’t look like an interrogation room-- after all, it...