D.D. Ward is Writing

Act 2: The Shrine They reached an archway and stopped. Miriam didn’t know how long they had been living shadows. The time was hard to gauge. As she waited, something changed. She began to reacquire weight and form. Color bled back into her vision. And then she was standing in front of the stone archway, beside Eve and Balthasar.  “Here we are. Safe and sound.” “How did you do that?” Miriam asked. “You did the same thing when you freed us. That’s not a paladin power.” “I’m not a paladin anymore. Remember? Now quick. Through the gate.” He grew blackened claws again and sliced a tear in the air once more. A murky image of a church interior swam into view in the open archway. “You’re deflecting.” “And you’re wasting time. The Darkways aren’t safe. Remember?” Miriam glared at him. Eve stepped through the portal. Miriam shook her head and followed. Balthasar came through last, the portal closing behind him. Miriam was about to continue pressing Balthasar for answers, when Eve put a hand ...

Act 1: Pandaemonium City Miriam stared out at the crimson waters of the river Lethe at the skyline of Pandaemonium City. The city scared Miriam, it felt ready to devour her whole. Across the water the skeleton of a massive dragon lay, the city council hall nestled in the dragon’s ribcage. An enormous sword lodged, impaled through the dragon’s skull. The sword bore the sunburst design of the archangels on its crossguard and pommel. No building in the city came close to being as tall as the sword. The air swam with conversation. A dozen languages babbled away around Miriam. Animals called from the market. Wagons creaked. Money jangled. And a thousand other sounds mashed together as Miriam listened.  The city also stank. Miriam could smell a thousand spices, rotten eggs, drake manure, and wet pennies. She noticed familiar smells as well, the smells of hay and grain and livestock. But these smells disappeared in the mass of other swirling odors. It was a heady mixture. And Miriam felt ...

Act 3: The Last Paladin The priests and the knights cried out and Miriam shielded her eyes. Ahead of them on the mud track stood a tall man in plate armor and a white tabard with a sunburst design. He looked older, in his fifties or so. The man carried a glowing long sword in his right hand. In his left hand he held a white kite shield with a golden sunburst design emblazoned across it.  “In the name of Michael, and Gabriel, Raphael and Uriel, I command you to surrender.” The man said in a booming voice.  Miriam stared. Where had this man come from? Where had the shadow thing gone? Who was this man? Questions whirled through her head.  “We are not afraid of you, angel spawn.” One of the priests answered.  “That’s your mistake then.” The man pushed into a run and thrust his sword through the neck of the nearest priest.  The lead priest began speaking in the dark speech again. The man pulled his sword free and stepped forward. He slammed his shield into the face o...

Act 2: The Last March The knights made Miriam carry the unconscious Eve. And Miriam struggled, the other girl’s body draped over her shoulders. Miriam was a farm girl and was strong for her size. And Eve wasn’t large, but she was a whole other human. Miriam carried the other girl for over an hour before Eve regained consciousness. Eve was a little out of sorts when she woke. But their captors didn’t care and marched the girls onwards towards the Sundered Tower.  Their captors marched the girls all day. Stopping only once night fell and navigation became impossible. This close to the Sundered Tower, the clouds hid the moon and all stars. And the Shadow Across the Sun did not disappear at sundown. And the unnatural veil it lay over everything made torches and lanterns feeble in the dead of night. The night was nobody’s friend; not commoner or Imperial soldier.  They stopped to rest in a burnt out building that Miriam realized had been a slaughterhouse. Hooks hung from the ceilin...

Act 1: Under the Gallows Miriam was fifteen years old the last time she let the pigs into the kill yard. She opened the gate from outside the fence. The hungry pigs scrambled towards the pile of bodies below the gallows for their meal. The pigs were fed only once a day. And the amount they received varied based on how many people the secret police had executed. So the pigs were often ravenous. Opening the gate from inside the kill yard would been dangerous. It would have put Miriam at risk of being mistaken for part of the main course.  She watched as the pigs tore at the bodies and stripped flesh from bone. She didn’t like her job. But she had little choice in the matter. The pigs scared her. Not pigs in general, she liked most livestock animals. But these pigs, raised on human flesh and made to fight each other for that food; these pigs terrified her.  Miriam looked up into the distance. Storm clouds coiled around the Sundered Tower. Chunks of the tower floated about the sky...

"Do you ever stop to think about how rarely we have to deal directly with money?" Lynn asked. "We paid for these drinks," I said, raising a teacup to make my point. "Yes. And you pay cash for your fashion magazines. But you don't pay cash for your clothes, for any food delivered to the castle, for furniture, for livestock. Everything is done on accounts, in ledgers. And payments are sent by mail or by courier later." "It is kind of crazy compared to our modern world," I said. "I'm not sure it's that different. It's like credit cards really, just low tech." Lynn sipped her coffee and stared out the window. "I wonder if that was the intention of the designers?" I said. Lynn set her coffee cup down. She put her head on her knuckles and stared off into nowhere. "Maybe. Maybe this is how it actually was in the Victorian era for nobility." "Maybe," I said. "It seems like a lot of trust is bak...

“How much do I owe you?” I asked the vendor. “A crown twenty five my lady.” I reached into my chatelaine bag and fished out a crown, two roses, and five thorns. “You know you could just give him a signet.” Lynn said, watching me. “I’m still figuring out the coinage,” I whispered.  I handed the vendor his money and took my copy of Yssian Fashion Quarterly. As we headed off, Lynn continued speaking. “Signets are quarters, roses are dimes, and thorns are pennies.” “I always forget about signets. I don’t know why.” I said as we walked. “I keep forgetting thrones,” Lynn admitted. “A throne is the equivalent of a ten dollar bill, right?”  She nodded, “The fact that it isn’t paper money throws me off.” Read more in "Daughters of the Digital Empire," Available soon! Check me out on AO3 https://archiveofourown.org/users/ddwardiswriting Check me out on Twitter: https://twitter.com/ddwardiswriting