AutoBiography

First if you follow this blog regularly thank you for doing so and continuing to do so. If not thank you for visiting. I realize my busy state has gone on for months and I've been posting nothing. Partly I became disillusioned with my writing career since it has seen little to no success, second I've been drowning myself in the election lately, and politics has been my primary focus. Finally, my "real job" has also taken time away I've recently taken on a position with more responsibility and it has also taken more of my time, not to mention energy. Nonetheless I have not given up on writing, and i hope you have not given up on me.

I have also started a new project. I am still working on Epic War, though i cant say when it will come out. Between having too reset my computer without backing up my files due to spyware and viruses, and a terrible case of writer's block, it has been a difficult undertaking. Nonetheless some of us writer have weak attention spans and so will engage in multiple projects as once to combat the anxiety and boredom that often accompay the task. I have decided in addition to my  fiction to once again make another attempt at writing an autobiography. It's just a story about my life, who i am, and how I have become that way. I will make the prologue available below gratis'

Prologue-I Am a Paradox

To describe myself in one or even a few short words would be an impossible task and a ridiculous one no less. To even make the attempt would be a waste. I have indeed deemed it necessary instead to do so in a book. The individual is essentially the sum of his or her experiences and choices. Sure there are traits we’ve inherited: personalities, physical features, and so on. It is equally true that much of who we are is learned or acquired from others, either our parents or our peers. Yet there are always exceptions to the rules. There are kids in small towns and good families who go bad. Then there are young men and women who despite years of abuse and irresponsible indoctrination, choose to follow a new path and do what’s right. I am not a fatalist, nor do I believe we are the sole masters of our fate. It is true that the choices of others can have an impact on us, and that we can choose to be and to do as we please despite them. I think it is then safe to say that our experiences define us, and so do our choices. To try and blame society and culture, education and upbringing or to credit one of the above is simply complicating the situation. There then we will have the temptation to engage in a fruitless battle of semantics.

   What about me then? What about my choices and my experiences? There are truly too many to even put into one book. I have also found that the greatest challenge in writing an autobiography is that it keeps getting longer. Before I’ve reached the end I once again find myself at the beginning. Herein then I can only make the attempt to define myself based on the major experiences and choices. I can include only those that have made the greatest impact on myself, and those details of who I am and what I’ve done. Who I am now, however, will not be the focus, but who I was and who I have become. More importantly I will take you on the journey through those choices and events that brought me here today.

   If I had to describe myself in a paragraph or two I would say many things briefly. I am emotionally unstable. I am confused. I am unique and creative. I am passionate. I would not currently describe myself as successful but only time will tell. Most of all however, I would say that I, like many people, am a paradox.

   I have loved and hated with equal passion. I have experienced many tremendous failures, with many small successes. I have at many times felt a joyous ecstasy and vigor for life. I have gone through frequent spells of depression, and reached the point of utter despair on many occasions. I both love myself and hate myself.  I am faithless and cynical and I am idealistic and deeply spiritual. I am a true believer and a true skeptic. I am color blind and I love diversity. Already you can see just a few of the many paradoxes. I have delved deeply into the question of who I am but I have not even reached the tip of the iceberg.

   Perhaps the greatest paradox here is that I seem adamant about telling you who and what I am, but that is not my goal. This book is more of a personal journey. I have many hurts and many hang-ups. I have struggled to forgive many people, and have still not even begun to forgive myself. I am loving and even love someone now as I type, yet I am incapable of true love. I prefer to wall myself in to avoid the many hurts pain that life has given me along the way.

   I often ask myself why can’t I love. Why can’t I be a good friend? Why can’t I be at peace with myself and the world around me? Why do I have no dreams and no aspirations? Why can’t I make a solid decision and stick with it? Why can’t I pursue my dreams? I love writing, it is a deep part of who I am. Yet I am forcing myself to sit at this desk and type these words. It is a painful experience and an ironic one. I am painfully forcing myself to do something I love. I have all the symptoms of clinical depression, some of the symptoms of ADD and anxiety. I even exhibit some of the traits of one with what’s called Borderline Personality Disorder, though much of that part of me has died, the insecurity and feelings of inadequacy are still there, creeping around my subconscious as I try to repress them from my waking world. Why, I still wonder, have I pushed away the people I love the most, and continue to attract the ones that I despise?

   In the endless rant, however, I have not asked the question. The goal is to explore my past and relive the memories, both painful and precious. Perhaps by finally experiencing the past again I can overcome it and endure the present while seizing the future that lies ahead. The question I ask as I continue to fail both professionally and personally is, why? More importantly, How Did I Get This Way?  

Epic War Fantasy Ebook-Birth of Mulgy

the next chapter as promised, announcements will be made when the full book is available.


The Birth of Mulgy
The frigid winds of the north blow eerily. Snow is blown in piles like dust. Yet the pure white snow is stained by the blood of warriors. Only one lone warrior remains standing in the field of blood. He’s soaked with it himself. It stains an otherwiseblond beard. A grim but stoic look rests on the hardnosed face of a massive, muscled warrior. Stern blue eyes stare out at the horizon, which is mostly white but growing grayer with clouds. He is a member of the Tribe of The Bears.
He shows no mercy.

His heart pounds and his breaths are deep and rapid. An axe, soaked in blood rests at his feet. Feet covered in large fur boots crunch through the early morning snow. The stern look on the warriors face does not shift even slightly, not once. His eyes remain fixed ahead and reveal no fear. Even as he passes bodies, many mounted on spears, heads rolling, and fields of blood, he is feels nothing. He knows no emotion for he is a Bear. What little remorse he may feel is overshadowed by pride. He is the last warrior standing; the final survivor. It is a glorious day, and a sign of favor from the gods, especially the god Ranu’k the god of war and king of the bears. This means he is chosen and destined to be a great warrior, and to bear a mighty son. Standing the sole survivor of any battle was a great sign indeed, but in a battle this immense, must be an omen of epic proportions.

He returns to the camp silently and stoically. Many tents made from the thick and skins furs of the beast greet him as he approaches. He passes through nodding solemnly in greeting at a few
warriors who pass him. They see the blood on his axe and beat their chests to show their respect. He raises his axe to them in return as if it is a traditional toast. He sees a few campfires on his passing, and a bonfire in the very heart of the encampment. The winds pick up, blowing clouds of snow with them, but surprisingly they fail to extinguish the resilient flames.

In the center a great tent stands marked with a proud flag on the top, and bearing a round shape to encircle its spot on the ground. The tent is larger and more elaborate than the others, which merely serve as homes. This tent serves as a home to the tribes greatest leaders. Mulgy sets his axe to the side at his feet and kneels.

“I serve cause Ranu’k. I bathe in the blood of our enemies. I offer my axe to the king of the bears.”
Then he stands up with a low grunt of roar. The other tribes may find their traditions strange, but none may enter the tent without reciting the prayer and the battlecry at the end. The tent is a sacred center of spirituality, government, and military leadership. There the chieftain resides where he leads the tribe and lays the plan for war. The council of elders take care of most of
the day to day business of running the settlement, and settle disputes between the Bears. The High Shaman, however, is the true leader of the tribe. To defy him is to defy the gods and even Ranu’k himself.

The man kneels in tattered brown robes, covered in dirt and dampness. His white scraggly hair flows down to the bottom of his neck as he moves his stick-like arms to stir the wooden ladle in the black cauldron.

“I smell the stench of blood and sweat. I hear the heavy breathing of a warrior.” A trembling and hoarse voice greets the warrior without even standing at first. Slowly he stands after muttering some indecipherable prayer. He turns a white and scruffy bearded face to greet the warriors. His eyebrows are thick like caterpillars, and the bags under the weary blue eyes distinguish him as an aged and seasoned priest who often spends endless nights without sleep, and sometimes weeks without fasting. The red in his eyes only compliments his rugged features.
“Rorlick, right? How did the battle fair? Are those miserable wolves still howling in the night?”
“They are slaughtered. Their entire army has been vanquished.”
Two wrinkled and trembling hands come together in applause as the old sage produces a grinning of rotting and missing teeth. “Excellent! You have led the men well, in time you may succeed the chieftain.”
“Only if you outlive me.” An even larger man than Rorlick appears massive clubs for arms crossed. His head shines in the dim light of torches, and many scars are visible on his scalp, a
proud battlewound he has born from capture by the wolves in his younger years.
He no longer flinches in agony recalling how they ripped his hair violently from his head. Instead he smiles proudly now, and his smirk grows to hear the news of their impending demise.
“That is not all I am afraid. We have sustained equal devestation. I was the last man standing!”
The aging shaman’s eyes widen in and he gasps in awe. “You…you were the sole survivor then?”
“Yes!” Rorlick answered.
“In a battle so immense? Yet I should not be surprised. This is a prophecy of our tribe. That one man shall wipe out our greatest foe, the wolves, and after…”
“Are you saying what I think you’re saying?” The gruff voiced chieftain asks, narrowing his eyes
suspiciously.
“You will slaughter the rest of them Rorlick, their settlement. You will do so alone. If you succeed…”
“I will succeed shaman, and I will not fail my people, and all that remains of the wolves are women and children, maybe a few elderly leaders and unskilled laborers, but not warriors.
As for you Chieftain, no matter what the prophecy says I am your warrior. I shall serve you as I always have, as long as there is breath in your body.”
“Fear not Rorlick, I would not be ashamed to serve you, and if the prophecies declare it, I would be a fool to defy the will of Ranu’k. If it comes to that perhaps I could serve as an advisor of sorts. You will need guidance.”
“I would at that.”
“But Rorlic,” the chieftain tells him. “You have more pressing affairs. Your son was born while you were away. Your wife awaits you in your tend. Do not allow us to retain you.”
“As you wish!” Rorlick falls to one knee and hunches over slightly, beating his chest with a mighty grunt and a roar. “For the glory of the bears!” he cries.
The Chieftain beats his chest in return and the shaman lifts both hands and pushes out his chest.
“For glory of the bears!” says the Chieftain
“For the glory of Ranu’k!” cries the shaman.

The sturdy warrior exits the tent and returns the chill of the camp. A bitter wind picks up, and flurries of snow descend from the sky. The warrior quickly shelters himself from the storm by entering his own proud tent. There he beholds the face of his beautiful, though weary wife. She lies down on a bed fashioned from a pile of furs and pelts. She holds the infant in her arms.

“Rorlick, my mighty warrior!” she greets him warmly. Her smile lights up the tent and the sound of her voice warms his heart. Rorlick falls to one knee to kneel by his wife. His eyebrows raise as the eyes behold a beautiful baby boy. He retrieves the tiny child into his
massive arms. He rocks him back and forth. The baby begins to whine and whimper slightly. Rorlick’s smile turns to a scowl. His eyebrows drop and his eyes narrow. He returns the baby to his mother with a huff, and stands to his feet. Crossing his arms, he turns his back to the woman and his son. He groans softly with his head turned downward and his face distraught.
“Has he not pleased you my husband?” she asks.
“He is weak.” The man answers flatly. “As his father you know it is my right to choose for him a name.”
“Yes my husband, you have a name for him?”
“His name shall be Mulgy.” He uses the word from an old form of the barbarian language. It is mostly used as a curse word, particularly when one stumbles. The word means, “Mistake”.
“You cannot mean that!” the woman gasps, almost sobbing. Her eyes water all the more as she waits for him to answer, but only receives cold silence in return.
After a drawn out moment he finally speaks. “Tomorrow he will be taken to the ancient burial ground, given back to the ancestors in accordance to our traditions.”
“We will…sacrifice him?” her voice is cracked with tears. “You would endorse such cruelty to your own son?”
“He is weak. To allow the child to live in this world be a cruelty of its own.”
* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *
The winter winds are harsh and bitter as they beat against the tent. The sudden roar of the blizzard awakens the woman from her restless slumber. She lies beside her muscled husband. Slowly and cautiously she lifts his large, sinewy arm from where it rests around, and slips away from his warmth. She stands to dress herself in a cloak and winter robes. She falls slowly to her knees to retrieve the infant. She cradles him, and then holds him close. She wraps him in a thick blanket and quietly exits the tent.

The camp still seems somewhat lively. A small group of warriors sits around the fire. She flinches at the sight of them. They roar deep laughter, slapping their backs and turning their smiling faces to the clear and starry black skies. Drunk on mead, and shouting slurred speech, they hardly seem to notice her as she strolls past the campfire.

The stars are surprisingly visible for such a snowy nights, as are the four moons. It feels surreal. The red moon of the south, the silver moon of the north, the green moon of the east, and the gold
moon of the west command the reverence of the stars that dot the skies landscape. She gasps in awe at the beauty, scarcely having stopped to admire it before. She looks to skies wondering what lies beyond her world of blood and tears. She can find no answers, for it’s all she’s ever known.

She continues her cold and unpleasant journey as the winds whistle and beat against a chapped and paling face. She shivers from the cold, holding her child tightly and hoping he is warmer than
she is. After some time she reaches an entrance to a large patch of woods, and a trail that seems to cut through it.

She stops and collapses to her knees, weeping. Where will she go? What will she do? This hostile and frigid land has no place in the wild where she can survive the harshest winters, and from whom will she receive help. The lands of the north are inhabited by many barbarian tribes, all sworn enemies of the bears, who have earned few friends through their warmongering and bullyboy tactics. She is hopeless. She and her child will die out here if she stays, but he will die if they return. She suddenly begins to sob inconsolably. She is helpless and desperate. Why? She wondered why. Was she cursed to have a love so deep for such a beautiful child to grace this world, only to lose him to the breaking of her heart? What a cold existence this was indeed.

She then seems to lose control and begins to pray. She prays not Ranu’k or to any of the other gods of the Pagan Tribes, but to a god she knows not; a god greater than all the rest. She feels him somehow. She looks up to the sound of mighty flapping wings, and gasps in wonder. A great white dragon flies above, only passing by.
“God of all,” she prays, bowing her head again. “Please forgive my Mulgy. Ignore him not, but use my Mulgy for your glory.”

A blinding beam of light suddenly ascends from heaven, illuminating the area, and landing at the entrance to the forest. A mighty and muscled shirtless man approaches, his chest and back hairier than any she has ever seen. Yet only the top half is a man. Her jaw falls, and she covers her gaping mouth with one hand in wonder. He approaches her slowly with the mighty legs and lower half of a horse. The coat is brown and shiny, shimmering the light. The curly-haired man with tiny horns smiles bright as day. “You are a centaur!” she exclaims. “I never thought the tales to be true, but…” she stammers in spite of herself. “But why have you come from the Misty Planes beyond the Mountains of Veil?”
“Your prayer is heard.” He speaks with a voice smoother than any man’s she’s ever heard. His tone is soft and soothing to the ears. “I shall take your child. He shall be used for the
glory of the Most High.”
“You…you will take him from me?” she asks suspiciously.
“I will raise him as my own. I will teach him strength, but also cunning and compassions. I will teach him things your kind has yet to learn. I will make him great. He shall be my ward.”
“I have no choice but to entrust you with his care. Please see that no harm befalls him.” She says.
“He is far too important for me to do otherwise. I promise you this, though you may not live to hear it, the world will one day praise his name.”

Conflicted Love-Yet Another Unrelated to Fantasy Poem

Your love is not unrequitted, simply misunderstood
My soul is simply numb to love It was never that you weren't good
I am fragile, I am afraid, and full of suspicion
I am hollow, yet I am solid like a stone...
Though I want to know true love I also want to be alone
Sometimes in bed I shiver from the cold
Wondering if I will still be here when I am old
Yet it frightens me less, enjoying the comfort of having it for myself
Though i often long and groan for true loves true worth
I also wonder if God has made me chaste from birth
I know you want my undying love and true devotion
But I cannot acquiesce
You know I wish from you for patience
But it's not a fair request
At an impasse, but not a deadend
I still have you as my friend
It is not a hopeless love
But conflicted...

Epic War Introduction

Original cover by Daniel Beaver
Reworked by Rachel Bostwick

This will be the first chapter of the book and serve as an introduction to the conflict ahead, I will also make the next chapter available on the blog, but after that you will have to enjoy the final product. I will keep you updated on my progress occasionally on the blog, but if you want more frequent updates feel free to follow me on twitter @worldofdiamic. Enjoy



Sadasé Anok, The Demon King
“I am Sadasé Anok. I am the demon king. My name means, “his power will come!” It is the battle cry of devils and demons. It is I who leads the armies of the dark lord into battle, I who pierces the hearts of angels, and I who corrupts the hearts of men. I am the nightmare that never ends, the scourge of heaven, and the bane of Gabriel.”

-From the Book of
Anok, the Dark and Unholy Scriptures

The demon king grins while beholding the carnage around him. With the thrust of their mighty curved and crudely beaten swords he and his armies pierce the hearts of the many angels and send them to their dooms. It has been said that demons and angels cannot die, but they can be banished to separate planes of existence, or they can be imprisoned and powerless, helplessly held in an encasement of stone. The angels begin to fall like flies from the heavens. The goal is clear and in sight for the demons. Soon Diamic will be there’s. Soon they will convert the mortal realm to another circle of their kingdom. Diamic would become the ninth hell.

Sadasé is not prepared for what occurrs next. He beats his sword relentlessly against the blade of Gabriel, as if he is pounding the angel into the ground. Gabriel breaks a sweat, staggering back helplessly with every strike. Sadasé grins as if he could feel the angels strain and licks his lips as if he can taste the despair of the guardian angel who nearly relents.

With a blinding flash and a deafening low-pitched ring, a beam of light ascends from seemingly
nowhere. The light covers Sadasé who growls and releases a low shriek as if the light burns him. He can barely move, except in slow motion. Sadasé will forever remember the smug smile he sees next, just before Gabriel sinks the sword deep into the demon’s heart. When the sword comes out Sadasé feels the stone encase his body. His feet grow heavy and his legs burdensome. Then his chest constricts, feeling tight and heavy. He can barely breathe as the stone spreads upward through his neck. If he could move, he would have shiver profusely from the numbing cold that runs through his body. One final deep gasp, and even the demon’s head turns to stone. The statue falls far, plummeting to the world of Gorka.

The statue lands with a deafening crash that shakes the world of Gorka, and leaves a massive crater on its face. Bits of flaming earth fly everywhere, and land nearby still burning in the night. The crickets and owls in the woods nearby seemed unfazed, still singing and embarking on their nightly adventures.

The sun will rise before the demon king regains his consciousness. He finds himself
hovering, trapped in the vicinity of the statue. He is fully aware of his surroundings, but is too weak to leave the statue behind, or do much of anything. He even swears he feels himself growing weaker and being pulled away from the statue. He fears what will happen if the unseen force succeeds. He clings desperately to consciousness, and wonders if the legends were never true: maybe angels and demons can die after all.

All he can see is the area around the crater and the broken up earth surrounding it along with some woods across a plain of grass in the distance. The skies are gray and dim, but otherwise mostly clear. A few rays of light to slip through the cracks in the sky. The smoke is just clearing by now. He hears naught but the sound of birds singing along with a gentle breeze as it strokes gently past the statue. He then hears footsteps, crunching through dry and charred earth. Black robed figures approach. Some of the dirt has been turned to glass from the heat of whatever made impact with their world last night.

They examine the statue curiously. Many of them gasp as they chatter in their strange gurgled tongue, which seems primitive and consists of many low grunts, groans, and growls. Sadasé tries to understand the mortal language by attuning his empathetic skills as a spirit. They seem to be talking about some kind of prophesy. Within hours they load him onto carriage and bring him back to a dark and secluded temple. There they lay him on an altar. Sadasé still remembers the first creature to reveal his face. He is a young, green-skinned orc, maybe twelve. His ears are pointed, and his teeth sharp and jagged, like tiny tusks. They're like ivory but tinged with spots of brown. His nose and other features are flat, and his eyes orange and yellow like the color of fire. Short black hair lies sleekly on the young orcs head, and shimmers in the light of the shining sun.

Sadasé listens to the sounds of a great wolf growling and clawing across the earth as it pulls the carriage. The wheels bump gently against the cobblestone roads, and Sadasé enjoys the ambience. Most of all, however, he enjoys watching the eyes of the orc boy. He is weak and innocent. He is vulnerable.
If Sadasé could regain his strength through a mortal, it would be him.
* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *
The young orc male kneels before the statue. His eyes are filled with tears, but the rest of his face along with his hands are covered in blood. The corpses of his black robed brethren are scattered and lying about like discarded rags. He opens his eyes only momentarily to look up at the majestic demon statue on the altar before him. It matches dark gray walls of stone around the room, and seems to go well with the black marble floors beneath his knees and all around. The statue towers over him, considerably. His whispers of prayer echo throughout the halls. “My master, please do not leave me in the silence!” he begged softly. “I have done as you commanded. I have obtained vengeance. Yet they told me it was you. The torture, the pain, the beatings, and the unspeakable acts they committed against me when I was still a child. They said you commanded it. The lies, the blasphemy, the arrogance, oh how their clever tongues slandered you! But I cut them out.” He holds out a hand presenting the various bloody and sinewy objects on the altar.
“I gave you all that you asked for. Their hands, their hearts, their teeth,their eyes, I offer them all to you now. Please! Leave me not in silence, but speak again. What am I to do next?”

Slowly and with a low rumble the stone cracks and trembles. Piece by piece the shards of stone fall to the floor, lightly ringing and shimmering as they linger on the black marble. With a roar that reaches heaven the massive creature shakes the remaining stone free and spreads his arms and sinewy dragon-like wings. His flesh resembles the color of blood, but with steam and glowing red mist exuding from it. His eyes ignite like the pit of a stirring volcano. His mane of black hair wavers as he shakes his head free of the shards of stone. He reveals a face with mostly flat and bullish features. With fine, but razor-sharp teeth he produces a sadistic grin then a ferocious roar as he turns his head to heaven, calling to his minions.

The orc stares up at the creature in horror. He tries contain the terror, knowing this is his god,
the one he served. He remains on his knees with his hands folded. Another grin and the beast sinks his claws into the back of his neck. He screams in agony, though none can hear him.
“Please master! Please! Have I not served you? Are you not pleased with me?”
He picks the orc up who kicks bare and dusty feet in the air, screaming gruffly to be released.
“You have pleased me!” The demon huffs and snorts, speaking with a low growl. Loud but strangely muffled, the voice resembles many rather than one, and is so intense it strikes terror even in those who hear it miles away. The orc screams sucking his chest in and out with every desperate breath. “And now for your reward…I will end your suffering, I make the you the first rather than the last die in Gorka!”

Floods of flame erupt throughout the world. Massive explosions wipe out thosands, and the
fires spread even further. With thousands of demons swooping overhead the orcs are helpless, trying to defend themselves. Women and children run in all directions screaming for their lives. Many are swooped down upon and taken into the air where they are tortured and tormented before they are killed. Most of the men hold bows and arrows and axes trying to kill their opponents in the skies and on the ground. They are no match for the overwhelming power and might of their massive and formidable foes. Within days the face of Gorka will be engulfed in flame, and the orcs will fall to their knees in surrender. That day Gorka becomes the ninth plane of Hell.

The demon-king is pleased, but not satisfied. He remains too weak to go into a world outside the planes of hell, and he cannot send his demon minions alone. Nonetheless he sets his sights on the world of Diamic. The orcs are weak but by mortal standards he has never met opponents more fierce and determined to defend their homes. It would take a few generations to mold the orcs into what he wanted them to become, but through torture and other “reeducation” techniques the demons employ they can be corrupted and made to forget who they are in time. They could be stronger and deadlier in battle, and they could be easily molded into what he wanted them to be. They will be valuable soldiers in the coming war.

He grins as he shakes hands with his generals, who he has been previously separated from. It
is good to be back in charge.
“What will we do now?” his top general asks.
“We will wait. This generation cannot be so easily tainted, but a few more generations and they will serve us well. They will be pawns in our war against the people of Diamic, foot soldiers in our glorious carnage. Diamic will be ours, the tenth kingdom of Hell.”
“It will be a difficult war, and a bloody one!” the general grins as well.
“Indeed! It will be a bloodbath like none of the worlds have ever seen…it will be an Epic War!”

Epic War Book Cover

I bought this picture from my brother, he has a lot of issues and is very confused about some things in life, if he has to go away i want him to remember that i at least value his picture enough to pay money for it, because he's talented. As a fellow artist i understand the value of that. It makes you feel good. Daniel P. Beaver no matter what happens to you i want you to know i valued your art, you are talented, you are unique, you are special in God's eyes. i hope you discover that someday and abandon all negative perceptions you have of the world. Once i finish this Ebook, as I hope to soon, i will dedicate it to my brother who is struggling alot right now. Im prayin for you dan, great picture, thanks for allowing me to use it...

Announcing Two New Releases

Hello everyone I am sorry I havent posted for so long, i've been working on several articles in my freelance career, but even better I have been able to publish two short stories that are now on the market through Ebook format. They are available through a company called Short Story Press who releases short stories as Ebook through several websites including smashwords, amazon, and barnes and noble, for a very low price, usually under a dollar.

Anyway I have been paid for two stories I've written over the past two months, and you can find them on any of the websites I've mentioned above.


Squire Ryanus
‘Squire Ryanus’ follows the tale of a young man who’s been a member of the Order
of Majestic Truth most of his life in pursuit of the dream of becoming a
Paladin. There he has given up childhood, friendships, and family in pursuit of
the dream to gain a title in the order. After years of strife, he finally
receives an invitation from the council to finally gain his title. Becoming a
Paladin will consist of more than a mere knighting ceremony, however. Instead he
will embark on a journey alone in order to obtain the Shield of Light, a
powerful artifact that has been stolen by the forces of evil. Initially alone,
he must track the beasts to their lair and fight to retrieve the shield,
possibly shedding his blood in the process. Along the way however, he will meet
a cast of quirky and colorful heroes to aid him in the quest. An unlikely bunch
to follow a Paladin around, the mad wizard, shifty ranger, and sneaky rogue will
join him at the fortress of the gnolls. If he survives, he will achieve his
dream of becoming a Paladin and no longer go by the name of ‘Squire
Ryanus’.


Mage Finals
The story of Mages Final revolves around Keldon, a dedicated student at The Academy
of Magical Arts. The honor student often spends late nights studying and most
of his life revolves around his books. More than anything he wants to be a
great wizard, and will sacrifice the human pleasures of fun, fellowship, and
even sleep to achieve that dream. Things grow worse as finals approach. The
pressure is on and Keldon is studying more than ever. As he will find, however,
no amount of studying will prepare him for this. The headmaster decides to
administer a more practical final in lieu of tests and essays. Instead Keldon
will have to journey to a dark lair where many undead abominations await and he
will ultimately have to battle a dark and powerful necromancer in order to stop
him from achieving his sinister dreams of immortality and lichdom.
In
order to pass his test Keldon must not only survive by defeating the
necromancer and his undead minions, but also by displaying selflessness and
virtue. Perhaps he will be his own worst enemy as he faces a dark temptation.
Will he survive and pass the test become a mage, and someday a great wizard? Or
will he ultimately fail and face the possibility of defeat and oblivion?


As I said these lovely Ebooks will be available on amazon, barnes and noble's website, and other. I dont get royalties, only an upfront payment, but it will look good for my image for those who choose to buy, and IF you do decide to pay less than a $1 for these stories, as they are priced, Please leave a kind and positive review, which will help even more.

Thanks for those who have followed me and been faithful despite my lack of posting lately. God bless, and always enjoy your adventures to come

The Men Who Died Because of Pride

While I've been writing since i was a kid, i would usually poems, winded descriptions of things, or what could be called smaller novella, ranging from 50 to more pages. Short stories were still foreign to me until i realize that if you wrote according to a certain shortened format you may be able to get published and paid sooner. So when i was i think 17 i wrote my first story. I was also inspired by a short story compilation book i enjoyed reading, one of the stories took place in a frozen wasteland with two thieves trying to escape for a better life. I was so taken by the scenery i decided to make my own frozen north story with a twist at the end and a moral to the story, somewhat dark but still written and appropiate for children. So without further ado my first every short story: The Men Who Died Because of Pride

Far in the frozen north were two human merchants traveling to make a trade that would make them rich enough men to retire. Here they had invested an awful lot of gold pieces to investigate this frozen wasteland. Much too their surprise there was something valuable to be found here, Icalyst Crystals (pronounced Ice-ah-list). They could be used both to make jewels, as well as to cast spells and make magical items. These were a very rare find back home. They could only be made in very low temperatures and when the sun passed through icicles in such a way that caused the inner layer to harden and crystallize into a gemlike substance. The main trick was that these crystals could technically not exist further southward, even on the cold Northern Continent. These crystals required icicles to be exposed to sunlight in this way for years and years at a time, and even with that they had to remain a subzero temperature and they could never melt before the crystal was formed or the crystal would be ruined and the process would have to start all over again. This was how it worked in the world of Diamic, the world these men were in. Well it turned out, at least in this very part of the frozen and frigid north (where spring, autumn, and summer did not exist), but only this particular part somewhere in the southwestern corner of the icelands, the sun had shone just right so these crystals were formed. There were plenty of caves and such things for icicles to be found and the sun always hit them just right in this land. Of course spring never came so it was never warm enough for the ice to melt. If the men were right these crystals would practically be growing on trees, they’d just have to break thin layers of ice glaciers and icicles and then reap their rewards. Well these two men worked for the Arlisburg Trading Consortium (in Davainia). Their employers had assigned them to come here to the north to investigate the assertions and rumors that crystals could be found here. Now they trudged through the snow excitedly knowing if they succeeded they would receive an advance and a commission on the crystals mined if they succeeded. This would be enough money surely, that they would never have to work again (and probably neither would their children). Now here you see these two merchants just walking about through the snow. First there was Murrick, a tall and skinny man as pale in the face (save for the red color forming) as the snow itself. With him was his associate Norfan, a jolly fat man with a curled mustache and a grin that brought light to even your darkest of days. “Were gonna be rich aren’t we Murrick?” he spoke gleefully with a thick and growling, but very friendly voice. “Please Norfan, we’ve been playing this game for hours, we still have crystals to be found and brought back to Arlisburg!” Murrick scorned. “Oh come on Murrick, just one more round, please, I’m so bloody bored, and I need something to keep my mind off of this blistering and burning wind…just chapping my face and searing my flesh and…” “Alright!” Murrick snapped. “One more round if you’ll agree to not talk for the rest of the hour at least!” “Ok then!” Norfan cheered, rubbing his gloved hands together. “Were gonna be rich aren’t we Murrick?” “Yes.” his friend responded monotonously. “Were gonna be kings aren’t we Murrick?” “Yes.” “And what are we gonna do with the rest of our lives??” “Eat, drink, and be merry!”Murrick sighed. “And what else?” “Nothing.” came the hollow answer. “Now SHUTUP!!” Hours seemed to drag by like days as the men dragged their boots in the snow, and the wind continued to blow right at their faces (no matter what direction they turned to escape from it). It was as if God Himself now spat snow in their face as it began to flutter to the ground around them, and by now the men were starting to look like human cherries with how red they became. “My fingers are numb, I don’t know how many more of these blasted icicles I can pick!” Norfan whined. “Well worry not my friend…”Murrick assured him. “We are done…we have enough of these ice crystals to go back home and make us rich men. The Consortium will be pleased enough by how many we brought. Now they will setup a mining settlement, and pay us what’s due! Let’s go home!” “Home at last!” Norfan smiled widely, tiny pieces of snow falling gently from his seemingly frozen mustache. “It will be a long journey and night is coming…we have to find a warm place to stay!” Murrick said. “Look there’s a cave!” exclaimed Norfan. “Good let’s go!” But when the men found the cave they were greeted by an unexpected sight, it was an orc. The green creature stood tall, towering above both of the men, and his muscle outweighed Norfan’s fat in any measurement. He gazed at them with friendly orange eyes and grinned warmly with his saber-toothed smile. “Greetings!” he said, taking off his leather, wool padded coat. “I am a hunter in these parts, mostly I sell bear and snow leopard skins, who are you two?” he spoke with a gruff and gravelly, and yet somehow soft and gentle voice. “Well I’m Norfan and…” “Who we are is none of your concern…had we known who you were we would not have come!” Murrick snapped.“Now we must go!” “But it is cold out there, and you’ll never find another safe cave for miles, they’re filled with wolves and bears, and you cant camp outdoors…stay with me!” the orc offered. “We do not consort, and especially don’t stay with orcs!” Murrick scoffed. “But Murrick…” Norfan objected. “Norfan, if the others back home found out we spent the night with an orc to survive we would be a laughingstock. Besides he’d probably eat us in our sleep!” Murrick told him in a harsh whisper. “I suppose you’re right!” Norfan admitted sadly. “Goodbye orc friend!” Murrick grabbed his friend by the ear and dragged him out of the cave. They searched and searched for maybe half an hour. Finally they did come to a dimly lit cave, greeted again by another strange sight. It was a Dwellis creature. They were native to the frozen north. This one was a female, an average sized humanoid creature, covered in soft white fur and bearing animal-like features, she blinked at them with curious yellow eyes.“Greetings!” she struggled to speak their Common tongue. “It is very cold out there, and I am waiting for my husband to return from his hunting trip, but perhaps you could stay here, just for the night!” she offered. Murrick hesitated for a moment. “Well…perhaps!” he admitted. Norfan gave his friend a slap upside the head.“If you won’t spend the night with an orc…I won’t spend the night with this…animal!” Norfan snapped. “Yes well before I didn’t know what little choice we had, this is the last cave for miles and miles, and the orc is right we’ll probably die out here!” Murrick retorted. “I don’t care, I’ll not stay with this savage, just because you say yes! And it’s not fair we wouldn’t stay with the orc just because you said no!” Norfan stated indignantly. “Fine!” Murrick hissed. “I am sorry ma’am, we can’t stay here!” he said, and with that they traveled back into the pitch-black darkness and blizzard of the night. “But you will die out there!” she cried after them. “There is no safe shelter for miles!” The men looked for what seemed like hours, but the Dwellis was right. There were no safe caves or any shelter to be found. So they were now forced to set up camp. Their tent was made from the thick skin of a grizzly bear, and was reinforced by a sackcloth covering, but this was not enough to shield them against the cold, nor were their leather and wool padded bedrolls.“Murrick I don’t know about you but I’m freezing, I mean it’s cold, really cold!” Norfan whined. “Be quiet and go to bed, it’s always colder at night, you’ll go numb soon enough and fall right asleep!” “But Murrick maybe if we huddled together and shared body heat we could at least retain some warmth and…” “Blazes no!” Murrick cried. “Are you mad, huddle together like children or animals, besides the way you smell…?No I won’t suffer that humiliation Norfan, just go to sleep!” “But we will die, we must do something to keep warm!” Norfan argued. “We will die, I just know it!” “No Norfan I won’t get close to you, that’s worse than staying with the orc savage or the Dwellis you hated so much. Now go to sleep!” The night was a long and bitterly cold one, the winds raged on and the snow fell freely in its little shimmering flakes. The next morning came and the sun finally arose, and just a bit of light entered the tent to reveal Murrick and Norfan’s dead and frozen bodies. And that my friends, ends the story of the two men who died because of pride! Don’t let pride get you the same way it got them!

Happy Mother's Day! Buy An Ebook today get one free sent to your mom

Hey everyone i decided randomly and kind of late i know, but im going to do a special. If you buy a copy of my novel The First Free King of North on lulu.com, send me an email at worldofdiamic@yahoo.com, and if you give me your mom's email (i dont my spam it's distasteful) I will send her the ebook free of charge, so you get a gift for your mom and a great book for yourself, that simple. Email me if anything is confusing, i will try to answer post-haste if possible. One day only. I have access to sales statistics so i can tell if someone bought the novel, but if needed i may ask for an excerpt or some information not free available online to prove you bought it if the numbers dont add up. Thanks and God bless you on this mother's day.

I will even include a personal message telling her the gift is from you, or a custom personalized message if you so choose. God bless, and thanks, safe journeys!

How Diamic was Created-The Creation Story

The creation story for my fantasy world. I wrote this as freshman in college for a world mythology project. We were allowed to choose to write a creative writing assignment for one of our major projects. I was inspired by the creation stories we were learning about as well as the "Epic Poetry" style of ancient literature, such as the Epic of Gilgamesh, and other classics like Beowulf. I wanted to produce my own epic poem, make a creation story for my world, and create my own myth for World Mythology 101. I did all three in one project and receive an A. I was also told i should see the editors at school newspaper to get this published, but sadly my social anxiety has held me back from many things, and thus I let this oppurtunity slips through my fingers. At least I get to share it with you all, though. Enjoy. Without further ado...


Creation Story of Diamic
Tell me a tale oh lovely keeper of knowledge, show me your face you whom men call The Oracle Open up your halls to me oh keeper of the Akashic records Open your scrolls to me oh author of the Book of Life Tell me a tale from a world faraway, the world named Diamic

Behold I stood before the halls of the wretched goddess of fate Destiny is her name To some she is a beauty to be won; a noble prize you need but claim To others she is an ugly wretched being, a wild beast you must overcome and tame She came to me as I called out to higher powers for a tale, for a vision from another world She looked into my eyes, a stunning beauty, and she took me to another time, another place Destiny smiled upon me, but then she slapped me in the face Then I cried to the oracle of that other world, and I was told a tale of this world, which I only knew by name Behold, she spoke and said…

“Listen now, I tell you of another time, another place But not a time once past, but a time that is to come And not another place so faraway from yours But an earth in place of earth, a new world in place of old For as men do die and are born again, so are worlds…”
I listened to the oracle speak in utter awe, I was confused and dazed I stood before her full of questions, and I would have asked them But I was too intrigued; too amazed“Tell me then oh beautiful keeper of knowledge, oh librarian of the other world…Teach me and I will listen, how this world came into being.”

“Very well,” said she. “Then listen careful, and listen well, to my tale Behold the Godhead looked upon the planes of time and space All was dead and all was gone, burned and blown away as chaff He frowned upon the void who claimed to reign again He glared into the darkness of the universe He had done so many times in many fights He closed his eyes for many years and darkness danced in great delight But then he opened them again and out of them came light The darkness fled in terror once again balanced out by light”Though intrigued by her words, I dared to interrupt“Who is this lord, this lord of light? Who is he that in darkness he makes the light, that in blindness he gives sight? Do they call him by a name, or is he the Nameless Father?” “He is the Nameless Father,” she explained. “But living creatures need a name, so they refer to him in elven tongue Dragonia is his title; it means the ‘God of All’” “Tell me then,” I said. “How the rest of the world came into being Continue to utter your creation tale Tell me what happened, after the rise of light, when darkness failed”

“Darkness still existed, it simply fled from light For though the two exist in space together, they cannot touch each other For they are enemies, for one brings blindness, and one brings sight Dragonia looked upon the darkness, and he saw it still existed He saw it didn’t fail, but in his heart he knew that light would still prevail So he overlooked his enemy and turned his eyes and hands to other tasks
Now I tell you the tale, of how he made the heavens and how he formed the earth: First he reached his mighty hands into a bowl of burning incense The ash was soft and dry so he put all his toil into it And he soaked it in the sweat of his great brow When the ash became hard like clay he made it into the shape of a sphere Then he inhaled the smoke and his lungs purified the vapors And he sighed upon the planet, and there came the atmosphere Then he reached again with his mighty hands into the bowl He took the burning ashes and separated them from flame Then he hurled the flame into the spots of light And together light and fire formed the stars and weakened darkness evermore
As the Lord looked upon his earth he saw it empty, he saw it hallow Then he saw its future and it was the same The stars would once again consume his world, when his creation went astray He saw the suffering that was to come; he saw betrayal, which his people soon would bring He saw the widows and the orphans that would be born He saw these things for of course he knew all things So when he saw the sadness his people soon would face When he saw destruction, which his earth would meet He bowed his head towards his earth and wept and wept for many years So the oceans formed, as the earth was covered in his tears He saw the earth was drowning so he stopped at last to spare it He commanded the hardened earth to rise and shake And so the plains and valleys, and so the mountains and the hills Were formed by mighty quake
He then saw the world was barren and without any life So he breathed upon the land and sea This is when he began to sing His sound waves sent vibrations through the land and seas His voice shook the earth, and sent ripples through the waters And from his voice the life emerged Plant and creature rose from land and sea And from his music and from life energy…The power of magic came to be

Dragonia saw harmony in his creation; he saw beauty and perfection But he knew as he always did that it lacked a mind to run it The world now worked in cycles, but it had no knowledge to make it great So first the lord cut his mighty tongue Then he breathed again the smoke, from the burning bowl of incense The smoke mixed with his blood and he breathed it upon the earth While the vapors were still swirling, he formed many people with his hands Elves, and dwarves, and men and halflings rose from vapors Then he formed a shell around the vapors, and he made the people that would rule his lands…

The Dryad And The Hunter-Original Story

The Hunter and The Dryad
The hunter treads carefully as he aims his bow and arrow at the grazing deer. Tiny steps, he strolls forward for a better shot. Leaves shuffle and twigs snap as he edges closer, despite his efforts at discretion. Suddenly he topples over, tripping over a log. He curses in spite of himself as the deer looks up and prances away. His leather feathered cap falls off from a head sleek and shining golden hair, which is now covered in dirt and leaves. He reaches out a rought, yet slender hand to retrieve. He stands to his feet, digging his hard leather boots firmly in the ground. He bends down to retrieve his bow.

A soft and curious sound echoes from somewhere behind him. Was that a giggle? He looks around to find himself alone in the serene Gray’s Wood. All he hears now is the gentle song of many birds. All he can see as his eyes dart and his head turns to and fro is a canopy of intricately connected trees, and the beautiful beams of light shining through between their leaves. He continues forward. His heart pounds and he turns abruptly at the sound of another soft and subtle laugh.
“Who’s there?” he calls, but no one answers.
After some time he continues his stroll and finally stumbles upon another deer. A sly smirk crosses a young and smoothly shaven face and he retrieves another arrow.

“Please don’t shoot her!” a soft and feminine voice calls out from behind. The voice is kind and gentle in tone, filled with sweetness. The man feels a warm feeling somewhere in his chest inexplicably. The voice is filled with the sweetness of honey and sugar.

“Who are you?” the hunter asks.
“I am Tanysia. I help to watch these sweet little creatures.”
“Nice to meet you Tanysia, I am Raymos. My job is to hunt these creatures and feed the townspeople. Survival of the strong.” He places the arrow on the tip of is bowstrings, pulls it back with strength and precision, and releases it. The arrow flies straight and true and strikes it in the throat. The deer falls without a sound save for the thumping as its mass meets the earth. Raymos hears a soft, shuddering whimper behind him. He approaches the beast trying to ignore her. He retrieves a hunter’s knife from the small, black leather sheath.

“No, don’t!” she cries, reaching a soft and slender hand.
“If I don’t finish her off now, she will continue to suffer until she bleeds to death or chokes on her own blood.” He urges her gently. The bronze skinned beauty walks to the hunter, Raymos. As her jet black, silky hair shuffles slightly in the wind she kneels next to him. She looks at the deer with puffy dark brown eyes, watering with tears. The hunter sees the sad look and frowns himself as he finishes the deed and kills the deer.

“I’m sorry you had to see that.” He sighs.
“It’s ok. You did what you had to in order to provide for your people. I understand.” She shudders softly. He sighs again as he places a firm hand on her shoulder and speaks in a reassuring tone. “Don’t be so upset.” He urges her. She looks up at him with a smile that warms his heart and even brings a tear to the hunter’s eye.
“You know,” she says softly as she wipes her eyes. “You are a very handsome man.”
Raymos blushes in spite of himself and smirks from ear to ear.
“And you have such a nice smile.” She adds with a wink and a grin of her own.
“You have the most beautiful eyes I have ever seen.” Raymos responds. “And your hair is like perfect shining silk.”
She smiles again, blushing now.
**************************************************************
The hunter lies his head down to sleep that night. Restlessly, he tosses and turns in his bed. The thoughts and memories of the day flood his mind. He grows anxious. He can’t wait to see her again. Then suddenly a warm feeling washes over him and stills his pounding heart. Sweet relief flows and he rests at last. Slumber arrives and with it sweet dreams.

“Where are we?” Raymos asks. He finds himself surrounded by a forest, but shrouded in mysteriously sparkling fog. He sees a waterfall behind him, flowing like smoke and shimmering steam rather than water. He still hears the water running though, even in the stream of mist. The sun did not shine, but the sky was gray and the many leaves were changing colors. Yet last he checked it was still spring.
Tanysia smiles as she wraps her arms around him. “We are in the woods my silly hunter. Except they are the woods as they appear in the world of dreams.”
“Then I am asleep?” he asks.
“Yes, but don’t worry I’m real. As a spirit being I can travel in dreams just as easily as walking in the real world. Do you not know what I am?”
“What are you?” he asks.
“I am a dryad, the living spirit of an ancient oak tree. Every tree has a dryad, but most do not choose to appear in the mortal realm. They prefer this world, the world of dreams. Some are not even powerful enough to travel there. But for you my love, I will go anywhere.”
“How can you love me?” Raymos’ eyebrows raise in question. “You just met me.”
“Oh I have my ways.” She giggled gleefully stroking the hunter’s chin and winking. Raymos could barely breathe as he fell captive to her seduction. “But you know, sometimes love just has a way of happening. I don’t really know the answer. I just love you.”
**************************************************************
Over the next few weeks the hunter visits the woods daily. He no longer hunts wild game, or does much of anything. Any time he has is spent with Tanysia. Together they talk and take strolls in the woods. She teaches him the many herbs and plants, and even about the creatures that dwell there.

As she walks with him one day she takes him to the falls that he saw in his dream. The mighty stream is not as it appeared in his dreams, but much like what he would expect from a real body of water in the world he is used to.
“It’s beautiful.” He says. “But not as beautiful as you, fair maiden.”
“Hmmm yes, but where were you yesterday?” she asks.
The hunter scratches his head nervously. It had been a busy day for the hunter who was cutting meat for friend who had a feast planned that week. “I fell asleep after a long day of work, and I awoke too late.”
“It’s ok…” she forces a smile. “I just missed you. I was afraid you would never return again. I feared you did not love me anymore.” She sheds a tear. He caresses her face, holding both cheeks and bringing her face closer to his.
“I will never stop loving you. Look how much joy you have brought me.” Their lips meet in a brief, but sweet kiss.
**************************************************************
Raymos continues his stroll home alone as night approaches. He knows he cannot stay in the forest after dark, for the creatures will make the attempt to claim him, or he will be lost. He brushes through many overgrown trails, employing his knowledge of the woods to avoid poison, thorns, and beasts along with other hazards. He comes to a clearing and is free at last to exit the woods into the nearby meadow. Just as he approaches the forest exit, however, his legs fail to move. He feels something wrapping around them and squeezing tighter. He looks down to several green vines entangling him at the feet, growing and moving on their own.

A heavy fog ascends out of nowhere. He sees the mist seeping upward from the earth until he can see nothing else but the fog and few trees around him. The birds in the air suddenly grow silent as do the crickets that were just beginning their symphony. All is silent save for the whistle of a chilling wind. He struggles relentlessly to be free of this natural entanglement. The vines wrap him tighter and fight more fiercely with every move he makes. He can barely even feel his legs now as the circulation is forced from them.

Suddenly he sees a great bear approaching from the clearing of the trees. A certain mist exudes from white fur with a glowing tint of blue. Pale orbs of blinding light resound from otherwise empty eye sockets. A lion’s mane of glowing gold surrounds the head, adorned with the horns of a bull. The hunter draws his bow and retrieves an arrow. He fires at the beast, but the arrow passes through as it would a cloud of mist and dew.

“Such weapons will not prevail against the likes of me.” A deep growl of a booming echo resounds from the creature’s throat.
“What are you?” Raymos gasps in wonder and in terror.
“I am a spirit guardian, chief guardian of Gray’s Wood.” He says. “I watch over the creatures great and small and I guard the trees and many vines. I do not interfere with you human. I have never stopped you from slaying my many children. I recognize it is nature to kill and eat. However, my most sacred duty is to preserve the order of the woods. The balance of man and nature.” He explains.
“What do you speak of?”
“The most sacred law you would violate.” He answers. “Your time with the dryad, the spirit of the oak, has not gone unnoticed.”
“What has she to do with this? I’ll kill you if you hurt her!”
The bear laughs a low growl of a laugh. Even as he speaks in normal tone he speaks with the voice of more than one, it seems. Raymos realizes, as according to legend, he is the voice of the woods. “You would need great weapons of magic to fight me, even if you were a more capable warrior to stand against me. I have fell warriors and even armies greater than you. Yet there would be no purpose in such a battle. I have no desire to hurt one of my subjects.” He says. “Yet your actions would hurt not only her, but the very balance of nature. It would hurt her homeland; these woods. I come only to carry a warning. Stay away from her.”

“But I love her and she loves me. Who are you to force her to…?”
“Silence mortal! It is you who brings harm. Who are you to violate our sacred laws, to conflict with the order of this world? I give you one day to say your farewells, but if you return after I will set the woods against you.”
“I will fight them all.”
“Human, do you think even without me as an enemy you could survive here? There are insects and diseases that would devour you, and creatures that would make you their prey. Not to mention the winters, do you not understand how harsh they are? You cannot survive here.”
“Then I will bring her home.”
“And take a dryad from her tree? She belongs in the woods and among nature. You do not. It’s that simple. If you take her from her home she will die.”
“But…”
“You have been warned.”

And with those words the beast crawls away on all fours, and vanishes into the fog, which quickly fades thereafter. The vines release him and the sun, though setting returns. The birds sing once more. It almost seems as if the beast was never there, but Raymos knows better. The event was very real.
**************************************************************
Raymos meets with Tanysia a final time and kisses her on the forehead after he tells her the story. They join hands and she looks up at him with the familiar sad and puffed up eyes. He brushes her hair aside to reveal them. His heart sinks as he too chokes up with tears.

“Take me with you.” She says. “Wherever you go I will go.”
“But take you away from your home, where you belong? Your tree, your companions, your future will be taken away in exchange for me.”
“You are all I want.”
“I…did not know your love was so deep.” He says with a smile now. “Come then.”
**************************************************************
For the first few days all is well. They enjoy a new life together; a life of bliss and perfect love. The former hunter is now only a butcher, cutting and preparing meat from either cattle or game caught by other hunters. He avoids the woods at all costs and enjoys his life in the city. Tanysia, his new love, also enjoys a new life with her handsome man. Yet as time progresses they both grow weaker.
He watches as the dryad grows sicker and weaker. She no longer smiles, except for those forced smiles he remembers all too well. Seldom do they speak. They simply stare blankly and try to force conversation, and speak words of love they once meant but mean no more. He watches sadly as once bronze skin grows pale, and once beautiful dark eyes grow lifeless and weary. Tanysia spends her days on a bed, staring out the window and longing to be among nature. When they visit the city park, she can only compare it to the beauty and freedom she once found in the wild woods. When she hears the call of a bird a sad and distant look comes to her eyes.
“Are you alright?” he often asks. She simply nods and smiles.

The day finally comes when he awakens in the morning and she does not. Raymos shakes her frantically.
“Wake up!” he begs. He has long feared this day will come. “Please!” he begs. He scoops her up in her arms and runs with her to the only place that comes to mind.
**************************************************************
The large double doors slam open as he storms into the temple and sets her down at the altar. “Please help, she won’t wake up!” He calls to the priest standing before him. A tall but slim balding man stretches out his hands to welcome them and kneels by the dryad. He examines her, hands and feet and face. He forces her eyes open gently, and then examines her hair, nodding.
“It’s obvious what has occurred.” The white bearded man informs him. “She is a dryad. She belongs with her tree and among nature. City life can only sustain her for so long. You must return her home.”
“But if I do…” Raymos shudders, weeping desperately now. “I can’t leave her. I love her!”
“Your love is not enough, it’s killing her. Do you love her enough to let her go?”
**************************************************************
Raymos kneels before the mighty oak tree, having entered the woods against his better judgment. Tears fall as he lays her down at its roots. The journey back feels like it has lasted a lifetime, but he here he stands ready to walk away with nothing to show for it. No love, no peace, nothing will leave with him, but love was not enough. Certainly not his love, he thinks to himself. Maybe if his love had been stronger he would have been able to sustain them both, but deep down inside he knows he did not love her the way that she loved him, otherwise perhaps it could’ve conquered all.

“Do not wait for me my love, I will not return. Please do not be in despair without me, but find happiness in your home among your people and among the denizens of the woods. Please do not wait for me. Find your happiness elsewhere.” He says with a tear. “I will not return.”
“See to it that you don’t.” he hears the deep, resounding voice of the guardian who watches from a distance. “You’ve done the right thing. I do not expect to see you again.”
**************************************************************
When the dryad awakens she feels more alive, and free. Yet her heart aches inexplicably.
“Where has my love gone?” she demands. She gasps and looks around frantically. “Why would he leave me?”
“You would have died if he didn’t, and he would have died with you. Even with him you would have wandered alone. His love alone was not enough to sustain you.” The guardian answers her from nearby.
“No! You drove him away…” she gasps in a sudden realization. She puts her hand over her mouth in disbelief. “Maybe I drove him away. I was an undue burden.” Her eyes well once more with many tears and she returns to her knees, weeping.
“He loved you enough to release you.”
“If he loved me he would have kept me with him. If he loved me he could never live without me. He never loved me as I did him.”
“So he would have watched you live in misery, and bore the burden of knowing you would never be happy with him, no matter how much you loved one another? At least give him credit for this: he loved you enough to let you go.”


And he did indeed. For Raymos would never forget his first and only love. The dryad of his dreams, but he was sure he could never return to her. No matter what, however, he would always remember his sweet Tanysia. Even in tears he would remember…

New Youtube Contest, possibly win a free copy of my novel

What is Destiny? Answer for a chance to win a free Ebook copy of The First Free King of The North, original fantasy novel available on lulu.com

Dryad's Dance Original Poem

Dryads Dance
by Jenni Faye

I feel a sense of magic as
The wind blows through the trees
I watch the leaves in motion
Swirling, shaking, falling free

In the dark of the woods
Where it is damp and cold
I hear the dryads whisper
In a language queer and old

They speak of things that only
Faeries of the trees can tell
You can only hear them if you
Truly believe and listen well

They make sounds enchanted
With coos and moans haunting
To stay your ground amidst your fear
Is a task that is quite daunting

Their songs will surely impale
Your soul like sharp swords
And expose your inner being
With their ominous ancient chords

You will never be the same
If you have the strength to stay
In the darkness of the woods
As the dryads dance and play

What I Am Not

This poem is not fantasy related, but it is one of my most recent works nevertheless, and I wanted to share it with you. Thanks for reading and God bless...



I am not a healer I am not savior
I am not a knight in shining armor
I walk alone and ride no steed
I am not what you want, I am not what you need
I am not a lover, I am not a hater
I know no emotion
I am not the sky I am not the ocean
I am not the silence, nor am I the answer
In all the commotion
I am not God, I am not Christ
I am not your all, I am not you cure
I cannot help you
I cannot heal you
I cannot save you
If you have no happiness, no love, no fulfillment
You will find none in me
I am not who you think
I am neither what you hear nor see…
For that I seek your forgiveness
For all the things I can never be…

Pixie Light-One of my Earliest Works

Pixie Light

Martin a simple man, a lonely wizard lived as a hermit in the woods. This life was forced on the old man, because in his nation the practice of magic and wizardry were strictly prohibited. Anybody who studied or practiced magic, would be burned and labeled a witch or a warlock. Martin knew he was neither, only a humble wizard. He would have tried to tell them if they’d listen, but he knew they wouldn’t. Gabriel had become a blind and foolish nation. Once others had believed as Martin did. Magic was not a devil’s tool, but a gift of God to the world of Diamic. Now, however there justice and freedom did not exist, and in fact no wisdom prospered on the Northern Continent. Martin knew it wasn’t better in the south in the desert lands of Calamaria and Calashaman. He longed daily to live in the east among the elves. Such dreams were farfetched, however, so Martin continued his lonely, humble existence. Nobody could leave their continent without a lot of money, power, and supplies. He had none of these so he lived his life contentedly in an old cabin he’d built with his bare hands.

He studied everything he could find. He discovered magical energy in every living being. He even began to find magic in the rocks and the dirt itself. He made new spells, and devised various potions. The wizard did more than magic spells and potions though, he was not afraid to work with his hands to survive. He was also a great hunter and a not a bad cook. Martin stood in the doorway of his cabin and rubbed his large rounded belly in up and down motions. He was ready to make himself some stew in the pot under the mantle of his fireplace, which was on the left side of the room in his small cabin. The man stumbled clumsily through papers, books, magical apparatus, and many other conventional items that cluttered his home. Unlike most wizards he never cared for the waste of time and effort it took to pick things up and put them in their proper place. The way he saw it, cleaning simply took time from more important things, like his studies. The fireplace crackled softly as it burned the round logs of wood. The dancing flames under its mantle illuminated an otherwise dark house.

Suddenly his balding head jolted to the side, his long white beard waving gently. He squinted his eyes to try and see better whatever it was that caught his attention. He walked over to the desk on the other side of the room before him. He picked a small pair of bronze framed spectacles from a cluttered heap of other apparatus. Then he put them on his aging gray eyes. “What was that?” he whispered softly in astonishment as he continued to peer around the room. Suddenly he saw it again and jolted his head in its direction, but it disappeared as soon as it came into sight. He could have sworn he saw a bright, small, ball of light flying by him at a high speed. He knew too, that it must be something magical. Suddenly he looked behind, hearing the magical, high pitched buzzing sound again. He looked and saw two, no three of the specks of light. This time they weren’t just flying. They were on the shelf where some of his brand new potions sat. The little specks of light crashed right into all the glass bottles and vials and knocked the potions to the floor. The glass of the vials all cracked and tinkled, as they landed on the ground. The chemicals oozed and spread out on the floor of the old man’s cabin. A large cloud of fumes began to rise from the potions. Dark green in color, it filled the cabin. The old man began to wheeze and gag as the fumes entered his lungs through his mouth when he gasped for air. The smell of the fumes was absolutely putrid and so strong it eventually caused the old man to pass out and collapse to the ground. Everything went black and ceased to exist. He slipped into a relaxing state of unconsciousness, where thought and awareness did not exist. This state was a blissful one and yet entering it for eternity was one of the most frightening prospects the old man could imagine.

Finally he felt his thoughts and memories returning to him, his cares and hopes coming back to him. Slowly his body regained consciousness, and nausea that went all the way from his stomach up through his throat and to his forehead, was back on him at once. He opened his eyes to see the blurry cabin about him and slowly his sight returned. At last he put on his spectacles and stood to his feet. He staggered around the room for a moment drunkenly, until he regained his composure. He looked around his cabin in dismay; it wasn’t a dream! He had hoped when opening his eyes that the memory of the little glowing creatures was merely a midsummer’s nightmare. Now he saw however, that his cabin was an even more terrible and chaotic mess than it had been before. His potions in the vials and bottles that held them were now turned to vapors. The glass containers all lay in shambles. The fireplace sat empty but wood and soot made marks all over the little cabin. His sheets, pillow, and blankets were torn off the bed and ripped into shreds spread across the floor. Pages were ripped from the books that now lay no longer supported by the broken shelves.

The wizard put his head between his hands and pressed it hard as if to either try and squeeze his own brains out, or perhaps in an effort to keep them from erupting out of his ears. He fell to his knees and screamed out in frustration. The books could be mended, the bed things repaired, the cabin could be cleaned, but it would take a lot of work. A few simple spells could help, but even then it would take all day. The glass of the vials could perhaps be repaired, but the potions and the months and months of research it took to create them, could not be restored. No spell could bring back the information on the pages the creatures had burned in the fireplace nor could any amount of work short of starting over the years of research. He put his head down and sighed. The day was cut out for him. He’d spend the rest of that day fixing what damage he could, cleaning up the cabin. He took breaks only for his meals. By sunset the cabin was completely cleaned, and everything that could be restored was. The old man exhausted and ready for bed now, lied down and went to sleep.

Hours slipped by quickly as the old man slept soundly, exhausted from the days work. He snored like a cave monster. Suddenly a small sphere of light glowing brightly came to Martin and illuminated his white bearded face. The little creature giggled gingerly. It fluttered its glowing wings and flew back just slightly. It grabbed Martin by the beard gave it a strong tug. The old man, pulled forward by this mischievous little being, awoke abruptly. He gasped in a fright but silenced himself, not wanting to scare it away. He slowly took his right hand and then lurched it forward, grabbing the little creature by its small, clear wings. Immediately the creature stopped short, dropped to the ground, and let go of the old man’s beard. Its glow fizzled abruptly. Martin took the little person to his desk, and lit a lantern, still holding its wings. He put it up to the light and watched the tiny person, futilely struggle, squirm, and kick. It screamed in its high pitch but soft voice to be let go, but Martin had other plans. He cast the creature into a magical jar he had found long ago. He poked tiny holes in its lid. He grinned widely now as he realized now what the creatures were who invaded his home earlier. “Pixies!” he exclaimed softly. It was early in the morning, maybe three o’ clock. The sound of singing crickets still rang loudly all around Martin. In the distance he could hear croaking toads coming from the flowing water of a small stream in the woods. He gathered a few supplies. First a magical net that shimmered just slightly under the light of the moons and stars. He then grabbed a small metal hammer, like those used for forging and shaping weapons. Then he hung up a small contraption that he called a pixie-net. It was a small net-like decoration that he could hang from his doorway. It looked like a dream catcher but with a small, green glowing orb in the center of the web-like structure made from brown bowstrings. Green and brown, as everyone knew, were pixies’ favorite colors. When all was ready and in place, Martin went off.

He marched angrily out into the woods. He made his way through the trees, hanging vines, animal holes, rocks, and countless other obstacles of the forest. Finally he came to a plain field of green grass. Then he saw it, a huge gathering of glowing little balls of light. An actual field of pixies! The field glowed faintly under the stars and hovering pixies, and a few wildflowers revealed themselves in various places across its glorious terrain. Martin stood in awe for a moment. He felt his anger subside. Eventually he walked hesitantly over to the field of fairies with his net and hammer still in hand. The fairies just looked at him in horror and dismay. They whispered amongst themselves and discussed the impending massacre they were sure the old man would bring. The mage looked up at the beautiful, clear and starry sky. He glanced to the north, and then to the south, seeing all four of Diamic’s moons illuminate each of the horizons. Then he admired the stars. He couldn’t help but see the resemblance between them and the pixies. He hated to do what he was going to do, to catch the fairies one by one, and smash them with his hammer. But reluctantly he walked over and began his bloody job.

He caught his first set of pixies, maybe half a dozen all in one swing of his net. He lifted his hammer to the heavens and prepared smash them each one by one. He heard them all whimpering together in their soft, high-pitched voices. He looked down at the creatures struggling to escape. He looked closer at them and saw the look of terror that came to their faces. They got on their knees and begged for their lives, crying the tiniest, most silvery, fairy tears you’ll ever see. The man’s sadistic scowl turned to a frown of pity. He put down his hammer and lifted the net. Then he looked around at the other pixies gazing curiously and fearfully at him. “Oh…” he moaned.“Alright!” he told them. “I won’t hurt you! But you must all stay away from my home and promise to leave it alone!” he said. Somehow he could sense them nodding in agreement, in a certain magical way. “And I want the ones responsible for the damage to my home. They will be kept in my jar for my personal use!” Suddenly one of the pixies came up to Martin and shouted in his ear as loud as a pixie could, which was about the volume of an average human whisper.

“Good wizard,” it said in its soft, fairy voice. “The two of the three, that have been invading your home have gone to rescue the third. They said you captured one of our own and went to rescue him!” The old man’s eyes widened in horror…what would they do to his home now? He immediately grabbed his net and hammer, and ran as fast as his old and stubby legs could take him. He panted in exhaustion but kept running through the woods and eventually came to his little house in the wilderness. The old man looked forward in dismay, walking up the hill to his home. He wondered what his cabin would look like now. He came to his door and sighed in relief when he saw the pixie net hanging above. The pixies had flown right into his trap to try and obtain the beautiful glowing orb before they saved their friend. The old man laughed, imagining their disappointment when the magical net collapsed and closed in on them, entangling them in a small fairy prison. The old man giggled gleefully as he took the net down. He brought it into his home, opened the jar cautiously, and released the two mischievous pixies in with the third.

Later on the old man discovered that the pixies for the most part, slept and ate and lived their lives peacefully in the jar. But when he blew into one of the holes on the lid, they squirmed, struggled, and tried to fly free of their entrapment. When they did this they glowed like the pixies they were, and made a bright light as good as any lantern.

He gently stroked his magical jar, now filled with the peacefully sleeping pixies. “Ah,” he breathed contentedly. “It would seem to me there was a bright side to this otherwise dark day. Out of this whole mess…I’ve acquired myself a Pixie Light!”He said to himself. He chuckled happily as he tapped the jar with his finger.“Isn’t that right my little friends?”

A free Guide to The World of Diamic

Now introducing Xerxes Book of Lore, your FREE eBook that will tell you everything you may want to know about the world of diamic. Download it today FREE at the Storefront

Here you will find a guide to places, people, faiths, and more. Packed with free information about the world to act as a guide to familiarize yourself with your fantasy experience here in Diamic.

Dark Elves

Among the dark elves there are many creature that lurk about the Dark Realm, and there are two major factions: The Queen of Spiders, which many worship as Gothica the goddess of death. Dark elves who worship her comprise very matriarchal and feminist societies, while those who Worship Centipede King tend to promote more equality among the sexes. Those worshipping the Centipede King are considered evil, but more moderate and neutral in nature, not as keen on conquest and empire like their counterparts, and are also a minority in the Dark Elf Empire.

Breath-taking artwork by Sarah Helsley, all rights are reserved to the original creator.

Davainia-A National Anthem

The nation of Davainia is unique and freedom is enjoyed by many here in the world of Diamic. The national anthem was inspired by the epic tale of its founding, which can be enjoyed in the novel The First Free King of The North. The song can be enjoyed below. Thanks for listening and enjoy...



Davainia Davainia
Land of peace and liberty
A haven of power the eyes of many see
Davainia Davainia
The sword of an empire did not prevail against thee
Your walls withstood their fire
You survived though things were dire
Davainia Davainia
Man and orc fight side by side
Only for freedom do they stride
And justice prevails while ignorance fails
Davainia Davainia
Escape for the refugee
A haven of hope in you the hopeless see
Giving glory to the god of all
You protect the innocent, the righteous great and small
Davainia Davainia
Davainia Davainia
Glory to Dragonia for Davainia!

Introducing: The First Free King of The North (video)

Dabuse Foxington has spent most of his life growing up in a nation and under a set of circumstances he does not understand. He comes to realize that his destiny is to fight for a nation he has come to hate for the oppression, hypocrisy, and the over all narrowmindedness of his people. He wishes to be free. The time will come to choose if he will follow his fate as a soldier or make a choice to be something more. In doing so he will face monsters of epic proportions, barbarians, and the most powerful nation in Diamic, the nation of Gabriel. He will be hunted like a dog. Worst of all, however he will have to answer to Destiny the goddess of fate, who does not appreciate the will of a mortal man contending with her own, only time will tell if he can overcome here and become...

The First Free King of The North... (click link for more)



Check out the video for an audio excerpt...