Thomas James Donoghue
Bio
Fiction writer currently working on my graphic novel: The Weeping Woman & The Wild One.
This story and others still to come are part of the world I am creating: Aleph-Null.
Stories (7)
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Aleph-Null: The Awakening of The Celestial Heart
Act 1 - Part 4 Chapter 1 Our characters, now set on their paths, are drawn to meet each other. The Weeping Woman walks along worn game paths through the hills in the valley, heading west. She experiments with her abilities, examining the world with her newly enhanced perception, focusing on the smallest details as she walks her path and sees for the first time the depth and complexity of the fabric of reality and the interplay of all life. She follows a flickering glow to the west. She can feel bright and brilliant light, a soul calling out for help.
By Thomas James Donoghue4 years ago in Fiction
Aleph-Null: The Awakening of The Celestial Heart
Act 1 - Ending The inn is awash in ghostly red flame, its heat is palpable, and its light is blinding, yet nothing is incinerated. This energy heaves with Liya's breath, and then disipates. Sophia rises to her feet as the field of Etheric light fades into the immaterial. She and Liya look at each other for a long moment before Liya catches her breath fully, still shaking from the outburst. Sophia grabs her young friend by the hand, and they move to flee. As they touch Sophia sheds a tear, feeling Liya's fear, the terror of being hunted.
By Thomas James Donoghue4 years ago in Fiction
Aleph-Null: The Awakening of The Celestial Heart
Act 1 - Part 1 Chapter 1 We meet The Weeping Woman, Sophia Obrair, on the day she loses her husband, Cullen. Cullen was a brave warrior who had only just retired from the Freeblade Knights the previous winter to live a simple life with his love.
By Thomas James Donoghue4 years ago in Fiction
Deus ex Demonica
Creatures of flesh, bone, and weakness are rent under the wake of his blade. An ocean of lesser demons chatter and claws in all directions, ripping into each other in their frantic hunger for his life. Their tide blots out the sky, screaming out from the dark they cast. He grips the haft of his glaive and sunders their twisted forms. Their dark spirits evaporate, and the vessels of flesh they have twisted for violence melt to a putrid sludge, unstable without ill will to drive them. His breath is laboured, but only for an instant. He casts the gore from his weapon and sets forth anew.
By Thomas James Donoghue4 years ago in Fiction
Ekklesia
As a lad, Luther loved little more than exploring the mountains near his home with his family. They would often walk together along the old paths that crept up The Wastrel Mountains, hiking to the many peaks across the range that their village was nestled into. They would marvel at the views, feel the air in their lungs, and the strength in their legs. Luther loved the sensation of being at the top of a mountain. He felt a calm exhilaration and found himself as one with the world.
By Thomas James Donoghue4 years ago in Fiction
The Weeping Woman
A low bonfire burns between the smooth stones of a dry riverbed, thin pillars of smoke wisp into the canopy above. A woman in plain travelling clothes sits on the most comfortable rock available, resting her chin on her clasped hands. She has drawn her hair and cloak back, bathing her face in the fire's glow. She warms herself, collecting her thoughts.
By Thomas James Donoghue4 years ago in Fiction
