obiwannabe over on Spell/Sword does this nifty little thing: Story on Demand. Every now and then, he asks his readers to throw an idea at him. If something clicks, he writes. Here’s something he wrote for me earlier this year. Enjoy.
Elijah leaned against the crude statue in the village green. Time and weather had done its work on the stone, its features pitted and scarred. The unknown founder’s face was unrecognizable, but it still stood its ground, keeping watch.
The old soldier ran a whetstone down the edge of his greataxe. Both edges had been grief-sharp for an hour, but he pushed the stone again and again. He stopped, and looked up into the battered face of the statue.
He could relate.
Across the dark green, the sounds of music and merrymaking spilled from the general store. The people of Jackson’s Grove had been saved by the skill and steel of the Ghosts of Gilead, his comrades. They had shaken off the terror of the unholy attack, buried their dead neighbors and immediately insisted on a party in the adventurer’s honor. Elijah was always surprised at how quickly people could…
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