Inkwell 2018-2019

Megan Weseloh

to join him, Ulster thought to himself as he plodded through the downpour holding the brand new umbrella his sister had bought him. He liked to spin it as he walked, pretending to be one of those fancy rich fools that now wandered freely down the streets of Tiavalen, secure in their knowledge that One-Eyed Iden would not swoop in and murder them on a whim. As much as he liked to joke about it, Iden’s death hadn’t actually caused the increase in unwanted visitors. No, the real culprit was the medical school. Ever since they’d added that damned department to the University, he regularly found trespassers meandering about with wheelbarrows and shovels, looking for corpses to pilfer. Well, they weren’t getting any cadavers on his watch. He had respect for the dead, just as any normal, Aether-fearing man should. As was his custom, he saluted the small

Variola by Miranda Barnes

Ulster Favian had a soft spot for dark and stormy nights, not because he was a particularly poetic type, but because he knew that they were the only times his cemetery would be left completely undisturbed. Back when his father had been the watchman, virtually no one ventured into the graveyard at night. Admittedly, his father’s career happened to coincide with the reign of Aetherlord Iden, back when fear of what might lurk in the darkness kept people indoors, but it wasn’t as if Iden’s death had made the cemetery any safer or less intimidating. Even Ulster carried a pistol, just in case. Just because one damned Aetherling is dead doesn’t mean the rest simply crawled into the ground

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