Much of this page is under construction. I will be adding imagery from the other novels as well as information on them. You know, little things, like titles, excerpts and such.

 

    Here are two short excerpts from the Paths of ShadeWood. Book 3 of the Warlock Saga

 

           A History

            Ours is a story of greatness, ours a tale of ascendance. Eons past, long before those who now litter both Au'Wuld and Eao'Wuld, we arose. With cunning and strength we tore Eao'Wuld from the grip of the Goddess who in jealousy sought to hold us from all that we might achieve.

            And we were five.

            I, Cul’soth, with my dark brothers, Diaotoch, Cith’on, Mol'Guin and Gol'shoth, ascended and changed this world’s order. Yet though we rule here, we know there is more to be had.

            And we shall have it.

            Au'Wuld. A jewel world bloated with power aplenty, energies that could supplement the waning strengths of these near dead lands and give us more...such as we deserve.

            Once, we were Human, one of the first in that Race, yet now we have grown beyond Her yoke. We are no longer mortals, beings created by the foolish whims of a weak Goddess.

            We are now GODS.

            Gods of pleasure, we take what we want. Gods of life, we devour others for our greater gain. Gods meant to rule over the cattle that the Races have become.

            I, Cul'soth hold dominion over the Race known as Orcs. The Arcan Succubi grovel at my feet, they aspire to gaze upon my countenance and yet to do so is death. Once a slave to the Goddess, I am now the ruler of an entire Race, a Race turned from her path to mine.

            Cith’on, my blackest brother, rules the Daoine, the shamed Elves who in our darkness found new power. It was Cith’on who showed them these ways, turning them from the devoted path of GreenLore. They follow him devotedly. How painful it must be for Her to see the proud Elves corrupted so.

            Diaotoch is Lord over all the varieties of Trolls.

            He can have what few remain.

            Much of their Race has been destroyed and Diaotoch, in immortal ennui, could care less. Diaotoch has become… distant, disenchanted. He no longer cares what happens to himself or our plans. Will he disappear like the Race he lords over?

            Mol'Guin, the youngest and most foolish of us, rules the Goblins with an iron fist and an unbridled cruelty towards the insipid animals. The Goblins breed in vast numbers and Mol'Guin takes pleasure in seeing to it that the population never grows too widely. He feasts upon a thousand Goblin souls at every turn of the sun and eagerly they give their lives to him. Great is the power Mol'Guin holds and yet he is shackled to me, as are all the others...with one exception.

            Baldur, the Guardian.

            This one I do not trust. He came to us as a servant after we achieved ascendance. He murdered Gol'shoth, my fifth brother and stole his prodigious might. How such a thing could have happened fills my darkest soul with anger yet I could do nothing. Gol'shoth was my twin in birth, oh those ages past when I was once a mortal and my ties to him were strong, my anguish great. Guardian holds Gol'shoth's power and wields it with cunning. For ages he has been untouchable and evasive.

But I am patient.

He will make a mistake, slip just once and I shall be there to feast upon his black soul when he falls.

            Yet vengeance must wait. He is the one who leads us to this new world, the Au'Wuld. He claims to have created a bridge between worlds, a passage through which a God can cross. Eao’Wuld was the first creation of the Goddess. We have used it well. This crust of stone we leave behind for the bounty of her second creation, her Au’Wuld. That world shelters those who fled Eao'Wuld long ago in fear of our power, hidden behind a heretofore impenetrable wall called the Veil.

            Yet now this Eao'Wuld is waning, power is more and more difficult to come by as my brothers and I drain from it the last vestiges of creation's power. We must have more.

            Our powers combine to this purpose and we shall soon be ready.

            Tremble ye Races of Au'Wuld.

            We come.

 

    "Get aside, damn it!" A vicious pike swiped the side of his face, barely cutting the skin just as he shoved Allison out of the way. He felt poison fire burn across a bloodied cheek even upon thrusting his sword directly into the Goblin's guts, relishing at the impact of steel against ivory backbone, shattering the foul creature's spine. He kicked the Goblin savagely off his sword, letting it crumple beneath booted feet and Jihard spun for the next foe. None lay within sword's reach.

            Another curse spat between snarled lips as he saw his valiant efforts were in vain. Allison, last of his trainees, fell dead to the ground, limbs still twitching spasmodically from Goblin poison which even now crawled into his own system. He ignited the fires of his power, hand blazing like a torch as he slapped it against the slice across his cheek. He screamed in pain and anger as his own natural talent pulsed between the cut in his skin to eat the poison from his body.

            Jihard sent forth a bellow of anger and rage at the necessity of this pain and the need to send green troops against such a foul foe. He held himself upright though the very fires of the world poured molten through his bulging veins. His power worked quickly and well, not fast enough to heal the dead such as Allison but enough to keep himself from meeting that grim reaper. Once the last vestiges of poison burned free, converted to psychic energy, Jihard used that new burst of strength to engage the enemy which had overrun the field this sun pass.

            Goblins ran rampant everywhere, grinning skulls of green and black, teeth of sharpest yellow, veritable fangs at least two inches long feasted on fallen prey. Jihard ran through their gorging masses, stabbing each as they peered up, confused when his sword passed through their guts and crushed skulls into pulp. They feasted too soon, they had not yet killed his entire party and the foolish Goblins would pay dearly for every life taken from his scouting troop.

            But though the loss of life hurt terribly, they still accomplished their goal. The SandPit had been cleaned of Goblins and sealed. The last Pit captured by the enemy had been retaken and now the true campaign could begin.

            "Jihard! This way!" A far off voice caught the Wanderer's ear, followed by a flare of green mage fire. The last open entrance to this Pit stood open for him but it would not remain so for long. The feeding Goblins heard the cry as well and even now bounded on ropy legs towards the same entrance as Jihard.

            A race then.

            Jihard pushed his body with every muscle, feeding sinews with residue energies of Goblin poison turned into usable strength, as his psi talent allowed him to do. He felt the gift of his mind abilities consume the poison as fire eats dry timber in a bonfire, dumping raw power into his system and granting superhuman speed and strength. Legs pumped, leaping over dead and twitching bodies of Orc, Goblin and Humans alike. Just a few yards to go...

            A gangly green gray arm reached up from the tangled bodies and caught his boot tip, Jihard stumbled, head crashing into the ground and rolling like a great collapsed tree. The jarring impact crushed desperate breath from tortured lungs as he vainly tried to stop this headlong tumble. Jihard could easily impale himself on the dagger or pike of a fallen foe so littered was the deathscape. Unable to breathe yet, the Commander knew how imperative regaining his feet was lest he be overwhelmed by the enemy. No breath came as yet and Jihard knew time quickly turned against him. Struggling to simply draw a single breath, he stood wavering to clumsy feet. Finally, his clenched lungs gave way and sweet air filled tingling flesh with token life. Jihard peered back to seek what tripped him. A Goblin feasting on the remains of a fallen soldier, a fellow Wanderer, crouched so low that Jihard failed to see it amid the heap of bodies, but the Goblin saw him coming and laid in wait, mouth full of sweet Human muscle, chewing and waiting...

            Jihard unsheathed his last remaining dagger, casting an oath of death as he flung it towards the Goblin. The creature lost its grin as the knife impact struck true, sinking to the hilt in its eye and tipping the Goblin clear over as if hit by a strike of mage force.

            "Jihard now!" Three yards away a man's torso poked from the ground waving him on. The only evidence of a ground entrance was a small opening through which sand furiously funneled, driven by winds and gravity. Jihard hobbled the last remaining steps just before the howling demons behind him, each step imagining the feel of sharp Goblin tooth across his flesh.

            If not for High Lord Cord, that ill thought sensation would have become reality. Just as Jihard ducked behind the Wanderer Lord, the depraved hoard made it to the open well hole. Only Lord Cord's power prevented those pursuing Goblins from retaking the hard won SandPit. A flash of concussive force burst forth from the High Mage's hands, hitting both Goblin forces and the layers of sand beneath their feet. The force behind Cord's mage blast erupted so powerfully that it cremated the first line of Goblins and cascaded a stinging grit death wall into following ranks. Sand blasted blindly forth and devoured green flesh, eating away everything in its path and leaving behind scoured ivory bone.

            Cord dropped into the Pit, sealed behind him with a secure flip of the barrier bolt, himself barely escaping the indiscriminately ravaging wind created to insure the safety of this SandPit and Wanderer Jihard.

            "I'm last of them. Allison didn't make it because of that damn poison." Jihard hacked out, coughing blood in a splatter. He'd bruised himself severely on that fall and the battle before hand hadn't been exactly healthy. Trained talents burned away lethal poison yet also burst a number of blood vessels under his sliced cheek. The entire side of his face swelled obscenely as blood ran rampant below abraded skin.

            "We cannot cure the poison, Jihard. We've tried to counteract its effects but nothing seems effective. The only one who seems able to resist it is you."

            "I know..I KNOW!" Jihard cursed. "A damn bit of good that does any of those kids out there." He held torn hands against bloodshot eyes, clearing away the burning tears welling out despite his wishes. "I'm so pissed..." he rasped from between bloody lips. "I've never been so angry in all my life. Cord, by the Goddess...I'll kill them all..." the voice of vengeance drifted as after effects of the battle carried his consciousness away. Jihard would recover to fight another sun, the Healers would see to that but a part of his sanity died in those bloody sands, just as yester’s sun, and the sun before that, every time he lost a man, woman or child to these godless animals.