𝗵𝗲𝗮𝘁𝗵 ⋆｡ﾟ🪐｡⋆｡ ﾟ🌙 ﾟ｡⋆

@hsauthor.bsky.social

142 Followers 95 Following

【 he/they/she 】genderfluid • ♠︎ • scottish • metalhead & goth • gamer • pokemon card collector • author of wip novellas 𝘀𝘁𝗿𝗮𝗻𝗴𝗲 𝘀𝗽𝗮𝗰𝗲 and 𝗮𝗻 𝗮𝗿𝘁𝗵𝘂𝗿𝗶𝗮𝗻𝗮 𝗿𝗲𝘁𝗲𝗹𝗹𝗶𝗻𝗴. 🚫 AI ☆ https://hs-author.carrd.co/#

An Excerpt from the short story "Mordred and the Fortress of Shadows" starts: 'Who are you? Your purpose?' She questioned him. She was taller than him. She pressed the tip of her blade against the centre of his chest and even through his rags he could feel it's sharp point threatening to break his skin. The image of so many swords glinting silver in the sun and splattering red upon green filled his mind. He swallowed and he could not talk. The woman did not lower her sword. He had no choice but to speak. 'Are you Sgàthach?' He asked and his voice disappeared. The night was now suffocating, even though there was a breeze that blew Northward from the sea behind the castle, directly into his face. He did not feel the same relief as he had when he left the cave. Air did not fill his lungs. He could not breathe. The tears. The tears kept coming.
He closes on Izaar, blade extended more like a weapon than a surgical instrument. Izaar struggles against the guard's iron-clad grasp on his wrist, but she only tightens her fist until her fingers press uncomfortably into his wrist-bone. Izaar isn't afraid of pain. He's been hurt hundreds of times before. He's received scrapes and cuts on the farm; scratched by the dog, bulldozed by an angry goat. In basic training it was bruises from fights; smacked hard by weaponry, even a nick or two from a penknife when cutting back wood. But this is different. This is clinical and premeditated. This isn't a fight and he can't win.
"Karsa'ar eras?" Hear me now? The translator crackles to life on the reptile's chest, and Izaar offers her a nod in response. "Vrąss. Zrelą nata'ari?" Good. Why are you all here? She continues. Izaar sits up, but doesn't risk trying to climb to his feet to address her. The last thing he wants is to give the As'ąr a reason to start beating him.
His body betrays him as he holds his breath in anticipation. His hand shakes, slight tremors that disturbs the steady motion of the fog. Still, there's no real contact. The shade never does get close enough to his hand for him to feel anything beyond the icy cold.
everyone else. Maybe once it's out of sight he can put it out of mind, and finally get some rest.
Izaar…" That voice sounds too real. Too close. Izaar swears he can feel the brush of air against his ear as he hears the whisper of his name. His imagination must be running wild, because it reminds him of Yŭxuān.
The fog seems to be spilling out from beneath one of the sheets that hides a tall, pillar-like object, billowing around it as though there's a source of wind in the cargo bay. There isn't. It's bitingly cold, but the air is still, he can't even feel a draught from the movement of the sheet. Unaware of the degree of danger he's stepping towards, Izaar closes the distance until the shadows begin to disperse around his legs. They reach for him the same as they did on the stairwell before—dark tendrils that bounce back the second they get too close, like they're scared to touch.
With his body no longer in the way Kamdar is able to see past him to view the familiar face of Izaar. The man's wide, blue-grey eyes look almost white in the bright shine of the broken pulse rifle, but he’s a welcome sight.
The front cover to the book Shade of the Aitel by H. E. Sherman, it features a small oddly spaced grid of 5 grey lines, matched on the junctions by three yellow dots at a left-leaning diagonal. The title "SHADE OF THE AITEL" is written in bold white letters in the centre of the cover, and is subtitled by smaller, grey text reading "A STRANGE SPACE STORY."
"With all due respect, Captain, it might hurt us before we can hurt it. I don't wanna find out how it felt to be one of the guys who was on this ship before," Sulien argues and his point isn't something Izaar feels like he can fight. Sometimes you do have to shoot first and ask questions later, but the last thing he wants is to make an enemy of something that seems so powerful.
It relaxes him, helps release the tension in his jaw and the furrow from his brow. Maybe he really is getting too soft.
"Jesus Christ!" Sulien takes a couple of steps back and presses his hand against the wall next to him to retain his balance. "What kind of fucking horror movie have you got us into, Cap?" Sulien's voice is strained as he glances quickly over his shoulder to see how far down the stairs Izaar is, but he can't take his eyes off the terrifying apparition in front of him for long. A small hand curls round the bottom of the opening—olive toned skin and nails bitten back to the quick. There's the telltale thumping and groaning of the metal in the vent as a body drags itself through the tunnel, warping metal and shifting weight.
Seong-Jin doesn't respond with words—he just raises his two bushy eyebrows suggestively with a half-nod towards Sulien. He doesn't seem to express any guilt or shame towards the idea of leaving the child to the monsters.
She can make out the lights still, but only by the way they cause the mist to glow ominously… like a fire does through smoke.
Above the entryway there's what looks to be scratched-off white writing, but the lettering isn't something he can read, nevermind translate. Circular glyphs and lines cut through one another, offering signage, and the only thing Klay thinks he can make out is that the two etched lines at the very end of the painted-on lettering could represent the number 2. It reminds him somewhat of Roman numerals.
"Calm the fuck down," Seong-Jin accents every individual word with a firm, direct tone as he stares daggers at the back of Yŭxuān's head. The kid is non-stop yattering about anything and everything that comes into his mind. He keeps pointing out small damages in the walls or flickering lights–all things that confident individuals wouldn't notice.
Instead, vibrations are passed through the side of the skull, allowing the one who posesses the headset to hear without really hearing. It comes in handy on missions that require absolute secrecy or stealth.
☰☷ YOUR MISSION IS DETAILED locate : AITEL CARGO SHIP .n BARNARD 68 retrieve : ██████████ CARGO . . . . . . . . . . . . sponsor has provided the following statement: [ TRANSLATED ] Yo, 194. You better listen to me good, 'cuz this is a weird one. The Aitel cargo
After about four flights of stairs, Izaar stops three steps up from the landing suddenly, causing Eileen to stumble and nearly go falling down the stairs. "Captain!" She exclaims, only to be shushed by him. It earns him a scoff, but the wave of his hand over his shoulder and his lack of willingness to direct his attention in her direction tells her something's wrong.
"Cap…" Yŭxuān's quiet voice drifts into the conversation from behind Izaar, and he glances over his shoulder at his nervous expression. After their conversation in the cockpit, Izaar knows they're both thinking the same thing. Chances are, so is everyone else. Something's wrong.
"Looks like a shuttle bay or a cargo bay to me," he answers with a shrug, and then waves his newly found pulse rifle towards the closed door. "Go on, you first." Yŭxuān's not happy about being put at the head of the group, but he knows exactly why Seong-Jin is doing it to him—to help him build his confidence. It's not the first time the man has thrown him straight into the deep end.
No wonder it wasn't broadcasting any sort of signal. "Don't go stressin' about that, you can't let what you don't know stop you. Don't forget--" "The most important thing about space exploration is not to be afraid of the dark, yeah, I haven't forgotten."
been modified. Bullets are more like pellets, now. Easy to manafacture more of, out of any scraps of metal they can get their hands on. They do as much damage as anything, even if the accuracy isn't as great as before. Reality is,
"Allene-" Izaar's warning tone falls on deaf ears as she disappears into the control booth. He can just about make out the top of her head through the glass windows, but not much more. Eileen used to be one of the most disciplined members of the crew, back when their mission first began. Now, she's the most disobedient.
They've been scraping the bottom of the barrel for rations lately, and it's getting beyond uncomfortable. He used to think living paycheck to paycheck was hard, but in the depths of space like this, where the only thing you have to rely on is each other, you never know where your next meal is coming from. There's not exactly a suitable planet out there with food they can harvest, not one that isn't under some sort of capitalist regime that costs an arm and a leg to even get entry into. Everything costs money, even out here, even in a place that's supposed to be free. Izaar lost that naive attitude a while ago, though, his own people made sure of that. Anything that can be claimed will be, one day. It's a dog eat dog attitude no matter where in the universe you go.