Topher Lydon
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He carried the water Gholum. The Fatamid witch cursed Kalijj Arslan, casting her spell on Ishan. This severed the tether by walling Ishan's mind off. Wylan went nuts, the fight ensued. The sister's died. Wylan is deafened and blind, and can no longer feel Ishan. Stephen or Ashot grab the Water Gholum and drag that with them unaware of what they have/holding. The leave the plaza. MOMENTS later Ishan awakens in the Plaza. I know it's thin, I had intended for Ishan to die in that moment, but I was asked to consider an alternative, and I liked the idea. So I worked with what I had.
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It was a trick of water. Does Wylan believe it? Given the state Wylan was in, and his blindness, his reliance was on the tether, and when that was severed, he also cannot hear anything at this point, deaf and blinded his only sensation was the severing. HOWEVER, Wylan is no fool he will heal, and an illusion will only distract him for so long. Ishan is a part of his soul. So timeline wise, this is still the same night that Wylan and Darien held each other, broken, outside of Jerusalem. Shell shocked, grieving. Wylan cannot hear anything, his magic is drained, he is trying to recover from the exhaustion and injuries and the sheer overwhelming sensation of that many people dying... Give him time.
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This book was requested by @Seraph28 who has been a good friend and reading all of my mad scribblings as a loyal Beta Reader. Ishan deserved his own story, his own journey, and a chance to be himself. Free from being the third wheel in Darien/Wylan's story, free from the poison of his Grandfather's court, and from the weight of expectation. @drpaladin is right, the little Prince succeeded where Darien and all of his armies, gold, and a crown failed. The group of survivors he got out of Jerusalem may have been small, but they gave him a true name.
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Erik is permitted to be the person Ishan could never be. And Seb's happy to amble along at his side making snarky commentary.
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A precious, final offering.
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Welcome to the desert
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Good Morning Welcome back to the Crusade
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Ifrashan, Sultanate of Rum After the Fall of Jerusalem The dust of the Syrian road still clung to the winding sheets. Crown Prince Khalid ibn Fadil al'Kalijj stood on the marble steps of his grandfather's audience chamber, watching the procession crawl through the city gates like a wounded serpent. Twenty men. Twenty horses cloaked in black. And at the center, carried upon a bier of woven palm fronds and cedarwood, a shape wrapped in white linen that h
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Ch02 The desert night did not simply fall; it crashed down upon them like an anvil of black ice. Within an hour of the sun sinking below the jagged horizon, the residual heat baked into the rocks had entirely vanished, stolen away by a merciless, howling wind that swept down from the high ridges. The landscape, previously painted in the violent golds and reds of the dying day, was swallowed by an abyssal darkness, illuminated only by the sickly, pale light of a crescent moon
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Two enemies wake in the ashes of Jerusalem—one a deserter drowning in guilt, the other an amnesiac who remembers only how to kill. Hunted across the desert by a vengeful lord, they must disguise themselves as a Crusader knight and his squire to survive. But in the war-torn port of Jaffa, masks slip. Secrets surface. And a feral German street rat with a talent for trouble forces them to confront an impossible question: in a holy war that devours everything, can two broken boys build a family from the ruins?
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I mean if someone was going to explode in fire and get hiccups, might as well be Poitr... I could make a joke about him being FLAMING but he was before.
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He might have a tiny-tiny problem... and Flynn's credit card.
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High Maintenance is definitely Poitr's brand.
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Hic!
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The phone rang three times before anyone picked up. Flynn stood at the kitchen island, the business card in one hand, his cell phone pressed to his ear. The sun had set an hour ago. Poitr was sprawled on the mattress, still wearing Flynn's clothes, still staring at his own hands like they belonged to someone else. The frog card was still on the nightstand. The WKD was still next to it. A woman's voice answered. Low. Rough. The voice of someone who had been smoking since before Flynn
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Chapter 10: THE ART OF PATIENCE
Topher Lydon commented on Topher Lydon's story chapter in Chapter 10: THE ART OF PATIENCE
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I have added it as per request.
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Chapter 10: THE ART OF PATIENCE
Topher Lydon commented on Topher Lydon's story chapter in Chapter 10: THE ART OF PATIENCE
If you're going to ask anyone about linking multiple jump drives together, there's no one better than the first man to ever pull it off. -
Chapter 10: THE ART OF PATIENCE
Topher Lydon commented on Topher Lydon's story chapter in Chapter 10: THE ART OF PATIENCE
The Black Star, a Luck God, and a wish -
The sample cup was warm. Dimitri Ryder-Bell held it in his palm, feeling the heat of his own body radiating back at him through the thin plastic. The sensation made his skin crawl. Every morning, for five years, he had stood in this exact spot—outside the station's medical bay, under the harsh fluorescent lights that made everyone look like a corpse—and waited for the medic to open the door. Every morning, he handed over a piece of himself. Every morning, he pretended it didn't
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It is a lot of fun, high energy, and chaos. Darien trying to keep the peace between England/France and his Norman neighbour Lord Belleme.... all the while trying to raise his son... train three squires... and not get snowed under by all the ledgers that Julian insists he looks at... while Ser Val and Ser Lloyd tear up a Tourney having the time of their lives... all on Darien's dime. Oh and Ashot and Stephen's domestic ... I would say Bliss... but Stephen now has two street rats to deal with.
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She is also very much Granny to the boys:
