Upcoming books

Sample Story Preview

Oragoth 3145 Sunwarden Citadel(Darkland)

With a determined pace, Oragoth ascended the spiralling steps of the citadel’s highest tower.  The features of who he once was had faded into nothingness. Thick rigid pale skin covered his hairless skull, his eyes retracted into deep cavernous sockets. Only his flowing graceful movement betrayed his elvish origins. His bony fingers slid over the cold surface of the tower’s wall, his nails scratching the surface. Through the ages, the tower’s wall bore deep furrows etched by his nails. How many times had he climbed these stairs? Too many to remember. These last few times had been different, and he hadn’t felt this excited in decades.

​

Breaching the barrier, the magic wall that separated his kingdom from the land of the living, had seemed impossible. But with nothing but time, he had vigorously studied ancient scripts, and gained the knowledge to break down the barriers’ magical layers, an impossible feat for even the most powerful mortal mages. But not for him. From the day he was born into immortality and darkness, he had only grown stronger. His hunger for power pulling him through the centuries.

​

After countless attempts, he could now produce but the tiniest crack into the barrier; Through the crack he could send a piece of his consciousness to the other side, as a result, he had gained insight again into the land of the living for the first time in hundred and fifty years. Oragoth discovered that the mortal armies were powerful, but divided. One thing had not changed. Their primal nature. Some mortals only needed that extra gentle push or a whisper to act on their most primal urges. O, how he had missed playing those games. When he was still a young elf, he had discovered his talent for manipulating others. It had proven a rewarding talent and had made him into who he was today.

​

Taking the last steps, the stairs ended onto an open terrace. Five four-foot stone pillars supported the domed roof, intricately carved with delicate ivy flowers. The relentless weather had long faded their vibrant colours. With their beauty eroded away, all that remained was a tapestry of lifeless vines, stubbornly clinging to the weathered stone. The terrace had a protruding walkway that extended from the tower’s edge. No more than two feet wide, it jutted out into the sky. Hot, swirling winds pulled on his clothes, and each gust sought to drag him into the abyss below as he traversed the precarious walkway. Halting at its very edge, with nothing but open air around, he gazed and the land below and beyond.

​

The view before him, his creation, never failed to inspire. The corrupted land produced black magic smoke, spitting up from geysers. As a result, violent, dark, swirling clouds filled the upper layers of the sky and stretched out over the horizon. It suffocated the land in a perpetual grip of darkness. Only slivers of moonlight could penetrate these magic clouds, its rays of light constantly fighting to pierce through the ever-swirling darkness above. The land below seemed to dance and swirl, where the beams of silvery light fleetingly touched it.