The elf, Jeremy, arrives at Athenaeum. He meets the naga, Aine.
Equipped now with the Gifts of the Mighty, the League makes their way to the origin of the spectacular map that led them on their great quest in the first place, the legendary city of Amphiroth and it's patron, Lady Zaren.
An adventuring party finds themselves stuck in a cursed tower - unable to get out, they advance, deeper into the darkness which will later unveil itself...
I don't know where this weird idea came from! I was trying to write something about society and stuff!
This story was inspired by one song I heard, called 'The Cry of the Bird'. A story of love, betrayal and inability to forgive...
The poem version of sleeping beauty. I wrote this one day while listening to 'With You' by linking park... funny what trigers inspiration. Ohh and Karla Chambers's 'Many Furred' was a BIG source of inspiration.
Looking out over the city, recently returned home, the young mage reflects on that which was, that which is, and the only desire she has ever truly held in her life.
This is the beginning of a long quest to find the eternal temple, the Atrium, and wreak vengeance on the Char(fire spirits), by several different characters. Introduces Arven Hunter, the nymph Sayinti, and the darkmage Kariscus.
A sad and happy tale about a boy, a little girl, and an evil witch!
This short story is actually an event that happens in one of my books. Unfortunately I have not got this far with the story so this has become my goal. Even in final copy this document is only a draft for future events in my book so thing may change.
well the title pretty much sums it up. i was going for abstract rhyming...not as sucessful as my first try. Oh well.
A poor wounded goblin. There is bit of the idea of a Greek messenger and a bit of the idea of natives being pushed off their lands in this poem. I tried to match the meter with the staggering pace of the goblin. It still needs a little tinkering but I'm happy with it for now.
Death hath a sense of humour... oh yes, he doth. I am TERRIBLE at doing shakespeare language, but this poem is attempted in that kinda old flowing language. Sounds better read out-loud.
The tower. The thing you build to hide from yourself. What happens when your demons are after you, and your tower is falling? Will you face them, or cling to your fragile, crumbling hopes?
Part one, of a three part story. Zith has torrid dreams of her birthplace. She is woken by a strange howling and decides to investigate. She meets with Syra and agrees to take on a daring assassination. Note from the writer - please go easy on my punctuation I know it's not perfect. All comments welcome - I will endeavour to reply. Please note that this story was originally posted in its' entirety. However, I have now broken it down into three parts to make it easier to read.
This tale was born when, on another site long ago, I was being slandered by someone who seemed to have a grudge with me. He (or she) made stories in which I (or, rather, my alter ego at the site) was part of the cast... not entirely to my advantage. This was my little revenge.
Chapter 1 teaser of the sequal to 'The Holocaust of Singing Lakes', more recent, unedited and I'm just now writing chapter 2. Comments very much appreciated.