LithiumBlossom

As the light of Sigtrygg's life fled him, he was left with nothing but darkness. Time passed. Perhaps he dreamed, but only the most elusive recollections remained. Then Sigtrygg existed again. Sigtrygg had found himself in a vast cave, the likes of which had never seen before. It's walls were a jagged grey stone, undressed and untouched by mortal arts. The ceiling was swallowed by the gloom above. Passages snaked off in various directions like the limbs of a kraken. Behind him a wide river flowed, it's waters black and depthless. It may have even been a sea for he could not spot a far shored. His surroundings may have been strange but those

The first thing Joan of Arc did upon arriving in the future was vomit. It was impossible to tell if either blood loss or disorientation from their jump was to blame. Regardless she found herself upon her hands and knees, retching upon a concrete floor. The world spun through tear filled eyes and shame at her indignity burnt its way through her innards. Mustering stability again she swallowed heavily and craned her neck to look up at Ghandi. She discovered the strange man was kneeling beside her, placing a gentle hand reassuringly upon her shoulder. "Where are we?" she croaked. Dimly she became aware they were not alone. Glancing around J

The heavens were dark and bleak. Thick black storm clouds shrouded the sky and obscured the stars. The moon itself was only a faint silver impression that gilded the cloud's edges. Rain came down in furious torrents so thick that one could barely see further than an arm length in front of them. Occasionally there would be a bright blue flash followed shortly by the long rolling rumble of thunder. In all it was a foul night to be caught abroad. To Arthur Wellesley, the first Duke of Wellington, this weather seemed remarkably appropriate to his current temperament.  His thoughts had been troubled all evening, a cold chill seeping into his ver

Joan's blood sang in her veins. The emotional intensity she felt right now was nearly overwhelming. Her heart beat quickly causing her to feel giddy and light headed. Breathing was difficult in itself, riding into the ash tainted wind. She rode through the narrow streets of Orleans atop a white horse, only able to maintain a quick trot thanks to the heavy traffic thronging her path. Peasant levies and the occasional man at arms trudged wearily towards their rallying points in great streams of men. She knew that hundreds, if not thousands, would be converging upon the city now. As she approached they quickly began to move aside, pressing the