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Stephen Wormwood

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  1. Stephen Wormwood
    MEMORIA = SNEATH Croughwell was restless. The confessor, poised and silent, watched the gruff warrior pace back and forth in clunking greaves, scratching idly at his leonine beard. He broke his pace and snatched refreshment from the tent table – a water goblet. Croughwell drained it and set it aside. “What troubles you, my child?” Said Sneath. “Do you so fear for our comrades?” “My subordinates,” he corrected. “They are well trained and loyal to the cause. But the method
  2. Stephen Wormwood

    Sanctum

    Stephen Wormwood posted new chapter in Nox Memoriae

    A servant boy brought his platter by – roasted pheasant breast served with slices of manchet and a stout herb sauce – better suited to a richer sort of tongue, perhaps. An ewer lay nearby, laden with water, and the serving boy poured him a cup. John Longsword thanked him and took a sup. His preference would’ve been wine or ale, of course, but he was not minded to ask the confessor for such a luxury – he was still surprised the good churchfather permitted ale in the Forward Camp. Confessor
  3. Stephen Wormwood
    Execution by fire and faggot. It was the good churchfather’s theorized sentence, the customary fate of both the traitor and the heretic. John Longsword’s lacklustre memories provided no recourse to stake burnings, but raw imagination sufficed. The mere thought of death by fire curdled his blood. And it was all John could think about as the good churchfather came for him that morning. Confessor Sneath brought no table nor chairs with him. No writing implements. No breakfast. Raffie was
  4. Stephen Wormwood
    “…Goddess forgive me…” He meant only to think it, not say it, but the words escaped his lips in a breathless haze. “…Oh, dear Goddess above, forgive me…” He could stand it no longer. Dirt-soiled fingernails slipped beneath his waistband and shunted down his breeks until they danced halfway along his thighs. His dripping manhood, stiff and erect, swung free. A wad of spit flew into sweltering hands. Strong fingers wrapped themselves around a jutting cock, closing into a fist, a fist tha
  5. Stephen Wormwood
    His cell was eerily quiet now. Confessor Sneath was gone. The novitiate Raffie was gone. The strongbox and pendant, the parchment and writing implements, the water ewer and platter, even the tables and chairs; all had been removed by breastplated guardsmen. Once again John Longsword was left to rot inside that dank cell with nothing but his pallet and his piss pot to keep him company. But it was worse this time. This time the threat of execution dangled overhead. John sat in the corn
  6. Stephen Wormwood
    It felt like they’d been at this for hours. His throat was parched from talking so long. John Longsword eyed the ewer at the table and asked Confessor Sneath for a sup of water before they continued. The pale priest assented. “Drink, my child.” Said he. “Her bounty is mankind’s blessing.” He poured a cup and quaffed it. And then another. And another. He was about to pour his forth when the churchfather warned him to drink more slowly lest he sicken himself. John put cup and ewer asi
  7. Stephen Wormwood
    The chamber pot hissed as John Longsword emptied himself of yellow waters. His nose wrinkled at the sour smell, or rather, at the smell that the good churchfather and scribe were forced to sit with. He shook off the last droplets then tucked his yard back into his tattered breeks. He returned to his chair. Confessor Sneath drew a flat smile. “Do not feel embarrassed, my child. We all make water.” John couldn’t meet eyes with him. “…Still, I…” “Should we resume?” “…I-I-I du
  8. Stephen Wormwood
    What happened to his memories? Why is he imprisoned? Why is he being interrogated by a man of the cloth? And to whom belongs the beautiful elven face haunting his broken mind?
  9. Stephen Wormwood

    Fog

    Stephen Wormwood posted new chapter in Nox Memoriae

    It was the stench that woke him. The very thickness of it. What was it? The pungent stink of his shit pot brewing with the decaying musk of a boot-stomped rodent, his long dead gaolmate? Or was it himself? Unwashed for days without recourse to lake nor privy, his skin sour and crusted with old sweat? Or was all mixed to nauseate him? He could not say. But it was the stench that woke him. And when he woke, he woke into darkness, a darkness thick as pitch. Close his eyes or open them,
  10. Stephen Wormwood
    I think this is a great assessment of Fran. Between Gustave's abuses and his own desire for nobility and power, he lost himself. Thanks for reading and commenting, @akascrubber, I value all your comments over the months. 👌
  11. Stephen Wormwood
    Thank you for reading it! I really appreciate all your comments and feedback.
  12. Stephen Wormwood
    ********** The Sea – The River – Epilogue, Part 1 – Epilogue, Part 2 ********** Staunton Castle, Dragonspur, Kingdom of Morland 4th of Winter, 801 Inside the dripping darkness there materialized a warm face – an oval jaw framed by its smoky beard, its brow furrowed, its lips widened into a toothy smile to match a cantankerous wit. An old face. A wise face. A calm one. Soothing. And Edward Bardshaw smiled back. “Master…” He wished he knew what to say to him. Tha
  13. Stephen Wormwood
    ********** A Noble Born – “And now it dies with me” – The Trial of Edward Bardshaw ********** Staunton Castle, Dragonspur, Kingdom of Morland 43rd of Autumn, 801 46 DAYS AGO Fran kept his silence. “I could always communicate with the Emperor directly, I suppose.” Said the Duke. “But even if he acquiesced at the first letter, it would take half a season to muster the help I require. Edith could march on Dragonspur in days.” “Your grace?” He frowned. “
  14. Stephen Wormwood
    ********** Three Letters – The Die is Cast – “What do you want?” – Edward Will Die – Tenth of his Name – The Whelping Bitch – A Better Realm – Bitches beget Bastards – “Who Gave the Order?” ********** The Undergaol, City of Greyford, Kingdom of Morland 53rd of Autumn, 801 It was a rancid pit. There was little better to say about it. The walls were like slagheaps – crooked and misshapen and befouled with moss. Damp’s stench infested the nostrils at every turn as mice scur
  15. Stephen Wormwood
    ********** An Eye for a City – Wolner Returns – Confession – Edith’s Entreaty – James the Whore – Greyford’s Entreaty – The Pig's Head – Upon the Crossroads of History ********** Walmouth Village, The Midburghs, Kingdom of Morland 42nd of Autumn, 801 The train of Edith’s Army came upon a village some hours afore noontide that day, a village called Walmouth. They found it shuttered. They found its grain stores emptied, its doors and windows boarded, its stables and paddoc
  16. Stephen Wormwood
    ********** To The Last of the Blood – Under Siege – The Battle of Brookweald – Vengeance – “Long Live This Realm and All Her People” ********** Brookweald, The Midburghs, Kingdom of Morland 40th of Autumn, 801 Maps. Markers. Complots. War frights not in the strategizing of it, nor when its authors gathered about the table to speak of soldiers and provisions and positions. War frights in the doing, the living, the breathing. Men may speak of Tunsford Hill and all its defe
  17. Stephen Wormwood
    ********** Encampment at Garrow’s Heath – The Riot of Dragonspur – Queen of the Commons – “Bring out the Alien” ********** Belfort Village, the Midburghs, Kingdom of Morland 38th of Autumn, 801 The mice raced into their niches in a pall of frantic squeaks as the alderman’s torch-flame floated down the darkened stairwell into the cellars. Behind him stalked Edith the Exile, sword-armed and plate-armoured, her face fixed with resolve as her guardsman Edward Bardshaw tail
  18. Stephen Wormwood
    ********** Edith’s Castle – A Letter in Both Hands – The Training Pit – The Convocation of 801 – Shepherd Godwyn – ‘Time to return home, Fran’ – Edith’s Standard – Uprising ********** Ravensborough, The Highburghs, Kingdom of Morland 32nd of Autumn, 801 They woke him with a water bucket. A sudden burst of ice-cold water that shattered against his torso and tore him from a hard, ale-induced slumber. Edward Bardshaw shot up from his haybale bed for the night, sodden
  19. Stephen Wormwood
    ********** An Oath Anew – The Branding – A Braised Heart for a Morish Dog – Tournament Day – Loyalty’s Reward – As the Sun Falls and the Moon Rises ********** Old Hall, Fludding, Kingdom of Morland 28th of Autumn, 801 A public show of obeisance. To cement its legitimacy, it was King Oswald’s pleasure that the Earl of Harcaster deliver the acceptance of his terms before an audience of their peers. It was not, as perhaps the Lord Earl might previously have thought, to
  20. Stephen Wormwood
    ********** Watfield – An Evening’s Feast at Old Hall – The Golden Cockle – ‘At this very hour’ – A Master’s Celebration ********** Watfield, The Highburghs, Kingdom of Morland 27th of Autumn, 801 There now, in the Highburghs, Edward Bardshaw felt an old pull. Remembrances of a childhood (almost) lost to time. It began with lilting notes of gull-song, then moved to that distant yet distinct rumble of heavy waves crashing against beaches and shores, until the salt taste li
  21. Stephen Wormwood
    ********** Repose – Captain of the Guard – The King’s Progress ********** Temple of St. Jehanne, Dragonspur, Kingdom of Morland 11th of Autumn, 801 Sentries guarded the temple archway, silent swordsmen bearing pikes and the livery of the Thormont viscountcy. They crossed their polearms at the entranceway as a carriage wheeled to a stop at the temple forecourt, but quickly uncrossed them once they spotted the well-dressed foreign dignitary climbing down from the cab with
  22. Stephen Wormwood
    The Cornishman read by candlelight rather than paraffin lamp (as so many were wont to do nowadays). There were no nostalgic reasons for this (and candles brought ghastly memories with them anyway) it was simply that the smell of the oils made him nauseous. He was home at last from a tiresome day of work and a delightful hen lunch with his son that he didn't care to lose, so he lit some wax and removed his precious King James from its spot in his dresser. He peeled it open, the tight snap of the
  23. Stephen Wormwood
    1909, England. A religious man with an irreligious urge takes a wander into the heart of London to relieve himself of it. One Shot/Drabble.
  24. Stephen Wormwood
    ********** ‘Kind regards from the House of Gray’ – Council – The Rentmaster – Supper at Cromwood House – Supper at Harvenny Heath – The Red Cloak – ‘For without love, what is left?’ ********** Manse de Foy, Dragonspur, Kingdom of Morland 2nd of Autumn, 801 TWO DAYS AGO Wolfrick worked his boys hard that day. He woke them at daybreak for morning drills (those halberdiers not posted to the gates nor Gustave’s chambers) first running laps around the manse grounds then
  25. Stephen Wormwood
    ********** Chapter Six: The Wretched of the Realm, Part 1 ********** Unhidden Truths – Fracas in the City – Luther – Assets and Seizures – The Queenswood Hunt – Gallows Grove ********** Manse de Foy, Dragonspur, Kingdom of Morland 40th of Summer, 801 Just a day prior Francis Gray had half expected to return to Manse de Foy a victim of his master’s wroth. He rode home swiftly but sulkily, creeping in like a tardy apprentice in wait of a beating. But that beating
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