Tag: Azmih

The Seventh Night

The Seventh Night

It’s been awhile since I checked in on Azmih. So I decided I should brush the dust off him and renew his quest to determine what, exactly, this being trapped in rubies is. I came up with a delightful little scene and set about writing it down. Seven pages later, I realized that, while it …

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Voices in the Night

Voices in the Night

It’s been awhile since I checked in on Azmih. So I decided I should brush the dust off him and renew his quest to determine what, exactly, this being trapped in rubies is. I came up with a delightful little scene and set about writing it down. Seven pages later, I realized that, while it …

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Top Six Prompts from the First Year

Top Six Prompts from the First Year

On the thirty-first of July, 2015, I posted my first ever writing prompt. It kicked off a weekly tradition of taking time to write for myself, for fun, for practice and for personal development. Today I wrote prompt number ninety – hard to believe I’ve done that many! I’ve had a lot of fun responding …

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Blood for the Dead

Blood for the Dead

As I mentioned in my blog post on Monday, where I introduced Azmih and explained some of his history, I wrote this story for a class I took in college. The only requirements for the story was that it be less than ten pages and that it say something about the human condition. My teacher …

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Servant of Death

Servant of Death

I’ve started writing more about Azmih, my lonely and mysterious Necromancer. He always seems popular when he pops up. Like Reianna, he’s a character that I keep coming back to, keep chipping away at, trying to find his final form. He has a story to tell, I’m just not sure what form it takes or …

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He Crossed the Brittle Bridge of Bones

He Crossed the Brittle Bridge of Bones

It was cold. Colder than the whipping winter winds atop the jagged peaks of the world’s highest mountain range. Colder than death. The chill did not touch him. But as Azmih watched, his companion jolted awake, shivering violently against the frigid air. His head whipped from side to side, long black hair smacking his neck …

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They Return Every Year to Lay Flowers on the Spot

They Return Every Year to Lay Flowers on the Spot

The villagers returned every year to spread flowers across the bog. A riot of pinks and blues, purples and yellows, even shocks of pristine white sprinkled like snow for one glorious afternoon before they were left to wilt in the mud. Then they returned to their festivals and dances, their stories and feasts, hoping against …

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