Morgan Christy Rickards
Bio
One half of Rickards and Jones Authors... Check out Rhys Barnard Jones on Vocal (and the story Root and Leaf on my profile) for the other half!
Find us on Instagram @rickardsandjones or visit rickardsandjones.com
Achievements (1)
Stories (17)
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The Captain
Breath turned to mist in the cold night air, adding to the denseness of the fog that hovered low over the water and engulfed the deck. Fingers of frost crept up the sides of the glass cage in spidering webs. For days now, an anxious anticipation had been building and building in Anorch’s mind. The captains feeling of an oncoming, inevitable downfall caused a twitchy paranoia that had all of the crew on edge.
By Morgan Christy Rickardsabout a year ago in Fiction
Just a Minuet
Mahogany eyes reflected flickering flames. Chandeliers and their abundance of candles bathed the evening in an orange glow as they swayed above them. Music from the quintet, sequestered on a balcony above the melee, barely drowned out the hum of chatter from those standing along the walls, watching the couples move across the open floor to the beat. Those eyes, they were pools of an unknown depth. They hid many a secret and danger but enticed all the same.
By Morgan Christy Rickards2 years ago in Fiction
Guardian of the Gate. First Place in Whispering Woods Challenge.
Dappled light danced over the soft forest floor as beams of sun played with the leaves of the trees high above. Beech, oak, and yew stood tall and proud, sentinels of this ancient land. Colours of autumn were in abundance, the forest a tapestry of deep hues. Golds, and browns, and reds, interspersed with the ever present green. Occasional bursts of bright summer colours caught the eye. Purples, pinks, blues, yellows and more. Flora, stubborn of the changing seasons along with pixies, sprites, and a plethora of other low fae flying about. Warmer days would be rare until spring came a-calling once more.
By Morgan Christy Rickards2 years ago in Fiction
Zohar
She had heard that it came about in stages. The end of the world. The world had already been intent on tearing itself apart, what with the continued use of fossil fuels and the disbelief of climate change. Poor governments and economic decisions. Wars and civil wars and injustices in bounds. That was when the pandemic came and tensions grew more taut. After that it was the natural disasters. The tsunamis and earthquakes and volcanic eruptions were vicious and unforgiving and never ending, it seemed. That was finally the beginning of the end. Then the monsters came, killing off any that they fancied in the years that followed. Very few survived. Most, if not all that were left, while being untrusting and scared, began banding together. The hope being that there was strength in numbers. But morals were no longer as black and white as they used to be. And the world as a whole, the people and the land itself, had become completely unrecognisable compared to what once was.
By Morgan Christy Rickards3 years ago in Fiction
In my Nature
They told me I had no choice. I had to fight, and fight to the death. I had to kill or be killed. That was the only luxury I was granted, that was the only choice. They could see the darkness inside me, the evil that lurked just below the surface, and wanted it released. I could not give into hopelessness or I would be defeated. I could not give into rage or they would have succeeded. They were already succeeding. I was changing, I could feel it. The monster within was being provoked and my physical being was adapting to match my innermost self. My pointed ears, too tall to be hidden by my hair was evidence of that fact. They were hideous, the physical embodiment of the evil that I had tried so desperately to hide. But they saw it. They knew it, recognised it. It called to them, pleaded. And they felt the power it could provide them if it were liberated. Another being just like themselves added to their ranks. I had to resist. I needed to quash the swell of rampant malice that threatened to tear me apart.
By Morgan Christy Rickards4 years ago in Fiction
Red Spray Can
Memories plagued my dreams and my waking hours. Memories of a not so distant past, that I wished dearly to forget. Every time I closed my eyes, those disastrous images flooded my mind. Red. Red everywhere. Sticky and dripping. Running down the giant walls of that giant’s home. Red red red. All over me, all over everything. Everywhere. A horrid reminder of what once was, and what will never be again.
By Morgan Christy Rickards5 years ago in Poets
Guild of Nightmares
P The light was quickly fading, night fast approaching, and with the dark the Nightmares would surely follow. I ran. I had been stupid, leaving it so late to travel back. I should have stayed in the town, or found a travelling companion. But people would wonder, especially at the unusual cloak and net mask. No, this was my own fault, my stupiditiveness. Oh my, now I’m making up words, I thought to myself.
By Morgan Christy Rickards5 years ago in Fiction
The Pit
Sitting on a rickety chair at a ramshackle table, in a dingy corner of the dilapidated pub, aptly named The Pit, Nel observed the questionable clientele of the decrepit establishment. From the outside it looked unfriendly, broken and dirty. Stacked stones and huge, stone pillars made up most of the building's outer structure. It was hard to see through the darkened windows. Entering the tavern through the small, soft wooden door, a feeling of discomfort and the smell of alcohol and BO greets each customer. It was as dull inside as it was on the outside. Squared, stone beams support the upper floor and the broken lights attached to them. There was a large, round seemingly bottomless hole in the centre of the floor space, and people were wise to avoid getting too close. Nobody knew where it came from or to where it led. Only that the unfortunate souls who stumbled down it were never seen again. The walls were covered in photographs of what were undoubtedly better times for the tavern. Before it became a haven and neutral ground for the city's many guilds.
By Morgan Christy Rickards5 years ago in Futurism
Deadly Date Night
Oh Come on! I thought. Seriously Universe? It was our first official date. We’d literally arrived at our wine tasting weekend location no more than 5 hours ago and already things had taken a turn for the disaster. Yet again. I don't completely loathe the disasters that appeared to follow me around. That's how I met my boyfriend after all, us being involved in a hostage type situation a few months ago and all, but still. It’d be nice to have a break from the stress of it is all I’m saying. And I’m saying that while looking at what appears to be a dead body.
By Morgan Christy Rickards5 years ago in Criminal
