About Eris of Discord

Fluid gender'd author with so much to write about and so little time. Brown hair, brown eyes- though if you're nice you'll call them amber- and an indecisive, energetic personality (at least when s/he has been fed.) Appreciates poetry and prose of all kinds, adores writing fiction- fantasy, sci-fi and poetry of he/r own. Believes in ambiguous language so long as it doesn't go so far as a lie. Grew up a few years ago but still manages to find things amazing in a vaguely child-like way. Shares personal information too easily and is haunted by memories s/he isn't even sure are real, yet loves the world and all the beautiful people in it.

Poem: Wellspring

Energy within,

I call you forth

bursting within and without

bubbling up beneath old stones and

moving mountains for me

as you did once

long ago.

Continue reading


Poem: Broken Shards

The mirror shatters

breaks and falls

its pieces too many to count


I stand amidst the pouring rain

lost in glittering doubt

Continue reading

Poem: Sunshine

A ray of hope

a ray of sunshine

pierces through the clouds

strikes the ground beneath our feet

brightens up the crowd.

Continue reading

Long Stories: Rose Knight (3)

Aed and some of his band wait for her in the city, and they find her before she’s made it two streets. Her first inkling is the crossbow bolt as it flies past her nose and embeds itself in the wall next to her. She takes a step out of the alleyway to find the street almost entirely deserted. Aed has three friends now, not simply one, and stares at her. Among his friends he counts two mercenaries with crossbows (one of whom rewinds his) and a man holding a sword easily as large as Rose.

She mentally measures the distance to the nearest unlocked door– the library. With their crossbows and their speed they could catch and kill her before she made it, she’s fairly certain, and they stand between her and the temple district.

Rose sags. “And me, without my armor,” she mutters. “Good day, Aed. You have my attention. Whose did I attract today?” Continue reading

Long Story: Rose Knight (2)

“I’m not well versed in the ways of women, especially not noblewomen,” the smith, whose name is Ith and surname is Sol, says quietly. “And well, Sandrys is a foreigner.”

Rose nods thoughtfully. “She is.”

Truth be told, no one in the city knows exactly where Sandrys was born. Rose knows that she was raised here in the city. A few years back, she’d told Rose that her old home had been horrible. Continue reading

Long Story: Rose Knight (1)

Her sword is strapped to her back, not in a sheath as most knights would carry it. It makes it vulnerable to rust and to rain, to dulling and stains, but to the woman who bears it, it matters little. Despite strapping it to her armor, she has never once drawn it in the months she has worn it. Continue reading