Location: The Easton-Weston RoadTime: 6th Age, 52 year, Summer My hand cramps as I grip this celestial quill writing my Apocrypha in these so-called 'modern' times, dear reader. Yet the master, The Great Architect insists on the truth, even thought that truth is a bitter vintage when one has to admit to being a fool.... Continue Reading →
1.1 The Hangover of a Hegemon
The sun—that bloated, blinding eye of A’H—crawled over the jagged horizon of Kra with an offensive, almost personal amount of enthusiasm. It didn't just rise; it assaulted. I winced as a stray beam of light caught the edge of a discarded silver tray, lancing through my temples like a needle of pure light worse than... Continue Reading →
The Apocrypha of Azazel 