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Chapter Sample:
THE BLACK GATE OF HAVAN
The crowded streets of Havan overflowed with women and men drunk on song and wine, too lost in their own carousing and accustomed to strangers to seeking fortune and adventure to notice one more adventurer. Even one so strangely attired as this black cowled figure that made her way through the throng, her unique robe with it's silver intersecting lines of runes resembling a myriad of interlocking spiderwebs; but only a keen eye that peers deeper then ordinary people would notice the silver threads imbued with magic sewn into the black robe. And one would need to possess an even keener mind to recognize the arcane nature of the sorcery within those linking runes, though the power these runes in particular gave could not be easily ascertained by one such person merely catching a glimpse of them.
The black clad sorcerer's sharp ears took in the surrounding noise about her, the clacking of her sorcerous staff muffled by the boisterous shouts and singing of drunks. Pushing these disturbing noises to the corners of her awareness, her thoughts swirled upon the myriad questions that troubled her mind. Questions whose answer would burn her to the core, yet the desire for knowledge and truth burned ever a greater inferno within her soul.
Her journey along the Black Road had been far from easy as she tried to blend amongst the crowd in the streets, her heart hammering and a slight cold sweat upon her palms. She dreaded being found. Her body still ached from the long days and longer seeming nights of endless walking, always on the move. She could not remember the last time she had slept well or even in a comfortable bed. Though in truth she remembered very little at all. If forced to name the last place she had taken a comfortable rest it would have been the Phoenix and Lion, an inn in the rural village of Ember, though it had only been tranquil until they had caught up with her again.
The Sorcerer Oriele's mind so fixated on it's vigilance that she had not realized she had wandered into the Castletown district of Havan. She had been ignoring the pain of her parched throat, her supplies had run out several days before she had reached the city; worse yet she could not remember the last time that the sweet nectar that was wine had passed her black painted lips. Oriele's halted in the street, a drunken fool bumped into her shoulder and splashed ale on the hem of her black robe. Her piercing blue eyes had caught sight of the sign hanging loosely off the archway only several steps away. The sign featured a feature of a black gate with the words food and ale written beneath it the picture. Pushing open the doors she strode into the tavern known as the Black Gate.
Within this establishment the noise roared louder then that outside the inn, the clamorous voices of the patrons reverberated off the inn walls, with their laughter, song, and conversations. Wanderers and eager fortune seekers mostly filled the Black Gate. The veteran warriors gave Oriele only a quick glance before returning their attentions back to their drink or food. This type of inn was far from conducive to Oriele's usual haunts for solitary contemplation with her wine, but it had to suit her purposes for now. Her finances had dipped quite low, and she would need further means to fund her personal quest.
Oriele maneuvered her way through the drunken and not so drunken throng to find a good table out of sight from most of the patrons, and yet provided her with eye on every entrance from it. She sat within the shadows of her black robes, the silver threads now almost entirely unperceivable in the darkness to even a keen eye as the shadows of the room somehow seemed to make the blackness of her robe even darker. Her staff she kept close to hand, least she should have need of it. Beneath her scrawny build hidden beneath the black robes she possessed a lean body of long muscles like that of a jaguar, and a brain power and knowledge of stave combat.
She gestured towards one of the barmaids, and it had not been long before the buxom young woman had returned with her Red Wine. She took hold of the young woman's hand as she let drop a few cheap coppers into her palm. She thanked her as the ornate bottle of expensive wine had been placed upon the table, along with a black wooden goblet. Oriele poured herself the wine, sending the barmaid back to those that would better appreciate her company.
Now fairly comfortable, the black clad sorcerer in the shadows began to survey the room, searching for someone that might be interested in hiring one of her special talents, though she was no master of sorcery, she could easily hold her own against many of her more cunning peers. Oriele took a few sips from the goblet, her blue eyes piercing through the crowd to the newcomer, a towering wall of muscles of a man with golden skin making his way through the packed crowd coming directly towards her. Her left eyebrow raised slightly; interested that he was making his way towards her. He did not seem to be one of them, but she had a spell already for use and her hand shifting into a ready position for attack should he turn out to be one of their agents.
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(Dark Fantasy Shorts similar to Vampire Hunter D and Trinity Blood and old Horror Films from Hammer Films)
THE FRIAR FISHER CHRONICLES
Wolves of North Woods on Amazon.de
Wolves of North Wood on Amazon.uk
Horror of Hellgarde on Amazon.de
Horror of Hellgarde on Amazon.uk
Sampling from Wolves of the North Wood:
"Damn it,' Friar Abe Fisher cursed under his breath as he tried to remain calm. His hands shook violently as he reloaded Gabriel. This .62 caliber belt pistol had been passed down in the Fisher Family for so many generations that not even Abe's great grandfather knew when this silver trimmed firearm had come into the family's ownership. His left hand braced the white stock of Gabriel as his right hand's index finger rested uneasily upon the trigger. The name Gabriel glistened in the silver along the gun's twelve barrel reflecting the light of a setting red sun; spilling out across the horizon like a wound.
Abe's heart raced as he stood alone; trying to hold the belt pistol steady. His hide boots gripped firmly onto the snow crested hill top as the distance between him and the encroaching shadowy form shrank. He easily heard the snapping of old oak branches and gnarled pines as the foul creature approached. The beast's ravenous howls did nothing to ease the Friar Fisher's mind.
The friar attempted careful aim with his shaking hands as the white furred dire wolf burst from the forest's cover. The massive she-wolf, nearly as large as the friar himself, savagely bounded over the snow banks with a solitary purpose in mind: feasting on the friar.
An almost blinding flash of brilliance filled Abe's vision for a second as the bullet roared forth from the barrel, and slammed into the dire wolf's chest. The piercing ring of the shot sounded only for the briefest of seconds in the friar's ears. The white beast haltered only for a minute as it absorbed the shallow wound's damage. A raging bellow passed those snarling lips just before the she-wolf charged the friar, a sparse trail of blood staining the snow behind her.
The friar's time to act shrank with each passing minute those snapping jaws of death drew closer. Abe discarded the ivory handled belt pistol. Gabriel fell with a soft thud before the friar's feet as he pulled the flintlock rifle strapped to his back.
A blur of motion and soon the dire wolf rammed directly into the solitary black robed friar. He felt her slick vermilion blood running down his chest, and soaking his robe as he laid pinned.
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