“The pieces of the puzzle are visible, but not the grand design. Images flicker and dance like memories, hinting at events to come. They scatter the moment I reach for them only to re-form to taunt me. I who never truly possessed them, nor may I ever.They do tell me this: a time of great change approaches and it’s not enough to watch. We must act. We can’t count on others to do our work for us or all may be lost.- Oracle Lilian’s Diary, Winter of 3765”
Mara Amberly“All notions of probable innocence aside, he seemed more at ease again, though somewhat more alert than before. Rudolf looked at her, more serious now.“A lot of men who kill have got a reason for what they do. Some are forced into it or have a threat hanging over their heads, natural inclinations they can’t ignore or a festering hatred caused by someone or something.”Cassia wondered about hatred and that fire of anger that smouldered inside of her, wanting to see the Nemorans slaughtered for what they did to her sisters. She didn’t just want justice, she wanted vengeance. Yet, she felt that went beyond hatred into hurt and the desire to protect others from their violence.”
Mara Amberly, Fire and Gold“The pieces of the puzzle are visible, but not the grand design. Images flicker and dance like memories, hinting at events to come. They scatter the moment I reach for them only to re-form to taunt me. I who never truly possessed them, nor may I ever.They do tell me this: a time of great change approaches and it’s not enough to watch. We must act. We can’t count on others to do our work for us or all may be lost.- Oracle Lilian’s Diary, Winter of 3765”
Mara Amberly, Fire and Gold“The knife; tool of the Thief, Skeben. I believe this is a mark of the prisoner’s guilt.”There was a howl of “no!” from the prisoner. For the first time, Minister Terell smiled.“The last rune,” Alexa said, louder. The disc had a simple circle with a dot at its heart. “It’s a mark of the world and the path. What ends will begin anew.”
Mara Amberly, Fire and Gold“The boughs of trees stretched high overhead, leaves of dappled green and black mottling the sky. It was called the black forest for more reasons than the inky-black foliage. The wise and cautious seldom travelled by night along its poorly-tended roads, and banditry wasn’t the main reason. In the minds of many, shadows of a threat lurked in wait, seeking an opportunity to strike during a moment of weakness. It was known among the old folk that not all who dwelled within the black forest were of human or animal-kind. Some beings were much older and believed far more dangerous.”
Mara Amberly, Her Gypsy Promise: A Short Story