Glimpse Into the Feeble Magician

A small look into Feeble Magician's setting from my background notes on the Warlock King's wars.

This is the journal entries of me getting a feel for the main character not of the first book, Feeble Magician/Orb of Souls/Forgotten Throne (not sure which title going with for first book); but the character for the second book, The Warlock King's War.

First Journal Entry of Elphin:


Entry for Winter Solistice

The hour is late and the candlelight hurts and weakens my eyes as I transcribe these pages.  This is my first entry into a journal.  I have not kept a regular account of my life until this moment.  I have not seen a reason to; but others, my colleagues mostly have impressed upon me the importance of keeping track of life for as my friend Devon Ormond once told me, the mind begins to wonder with age and memories fade into the recesses of the mind until they can no longer be recalled.

I suppose I should start with my beginning.  Most stories start that way so why not my journal.  My memory is not clear where I was born, fore it was no different then any other fishing village on the coast of Bradain, which is now called Erioch.  My earliest memory is of being cradled in the warm arms of a fourteen year old woman with long black hair pulled back into a ponytail and the fond scent of sea spray abounded about her.  At the time I believe I thought she was my mother.  Most of those years are as foggy to me as the coast I grew up on.  I was four years old when I learned that this woman that had nurtured and showed me love was not my mother.  Her name was Gwendolyn daughter of Cormac.  But to me she would always be my beautiful Gwen.  How I made her fret once I had learned to walk.  You see I was a sickly child with a sense of curiosity about everything in the world around me.  I learned to walk late in life, I was only three years old before I had strength to go exploring around our little home.  At least I believe I was three.  Most of my time was spent in and around that large one room fishing house.  It had been made, no doubt, from driftwood by my father's father.  Or perhaps even before that. I do not know how long fishing has been in the line of my family.

If Gwen was my mother then Conen was like a father to me.  My real father was far to busy to be bothered with a sickly child.  In truth I believe my father stayed out so long fishing because I to closely resembled my departed mother.  I do not know much of her from personal experience; only the amusing stories that came to me from Gwen and Conen.  She was a woman with a keen sense of humor and keen eye for business.  She had been sickly herself but that did not prevent her from being a good fishmonger's wife.  I have been told that she was among the most beautiful woman in the village.  Other then that I know very little about her.

My childhood was frustrating and I had been given very little education.  My father and siblings feared that I would not live long enough to even bear warrant to teach me the family trade.  My oldest brother, that would be Conen, dearly loved me and saw me as the last gift that our mother would grant them.  He was headstrong and had at times an overbearing sense of pride; which was odd to me in a fisherman's son.  He felt that he deserved better in life.  I am fortunate and unfortunate for this.  It would be his death; but for me it would mean a new life.  He heard the tales from travelers about great wonders wielded by scholarly figures known as mages.  He thought that if I could go amongst them that I would learn of a cure to my weak constitution.  So it was late in the night that Conen came to me.  I was a half asleep as we walked with very little on our backs headed for the King's city, the capital of Bradain, Pelior.

I am certain my father was glad to be rid of me; but Conen I am sure he missed.  Conen would have inherited the family trade; where as I....   I have not seen my little home since that day nor would I know where to find my sister and other brother, Bres.  No doubt they are still on that same forgetable coast living a simple life.

My hand and eyes grow tired and I have not even began to discuss the quiet day I had today.  They have all been far to quiet lately.  The Warlock King's War is over but there is an edge, a tension on the air I dislike.  I shall try to write again tomorrow.

(I'll post up the second entry of his journal sometime next week perhaps.)

A Return To An Old Tale

I started work on another novel project.  One that has been long on my back burners.  I am working on two novel projects.  The First you all know as the Ashes of the Fallen Series; which I have plotted out to 8 books roughly with the possibility that it'll be more close to 9-10 books in the end depending on how story flows. The Ashes of the Fallen Series is an experiment for me, and that experiment is that I'm writing somewhat formula fantasy fiction, a first for me.

The second project I'm working on is my Feeble Magician Series.  It was originally intended to be a children's book, and then it started turning away from that.  The original idea behind Feeble Magician is that I wanted an Inu Yasha styled story set in a European Fantasy setting; but it turned out to be a creature all it's own.  And for a while I thought perhaps it'd not be good as a book; but better served in the medium of a manga/graphic novel.   I have since revised that opinion a little, on merits of money.   I'll probably never see a manga or anime of Feeble Magician due to lack of capital and finances.   So I decided to further expand my experiment and see what will sell better for me.   I am going to release both the first novel of Feeble Magician at the same time I release the first novel for Ashes of the Fallen and see which sells better.  If either sell at all.

Feeble Magician is not as well planned out as Ashes of the Fallen, but I have rough ideas of what it should be like as I've written it half way through many times and each time I think it gets a little better when I return to the project as I think and hope I am improving in my Craft as I get older and more experience.   I'll update this when I have more to say on my writing.  Until then look forward to Horror of Hellgarde which should be coming out soon as I have the money to make the final payments on the cover.  The cover is looking great so far and hope more people will check out my Friar Fisher series.

And I leave you with a very tiny snippet from the rough draft for my first Feeble Magician book:

"
Detestable, everything about the situation; his lodgings, the unexpected foul weather, the condition of the inn and it’s women.  He had taken note of the name, the Broken Blade, and to Garien’s surprise much of the furniture was in sore need of repair. Garien had taken note of the name to ensure to never stop into this inn again the next time he passed through Morr’s Landing.  Over the counter that served as the main counter for the barkeep were the pieces of a shattered long sword mounted on a black plaque.   Obviously this was meant to be the blade from which the Inn took it’s name.    No doubt there was some great tale around it being the blade of some great hero that felled a mighty demon or even a dragon, shattering as both foes died in the final conflict.    Or some other tall tale, inns were usually full of them, it was one way they tried to draw in business with these outlandish tales.  Tales that Garien the Magnificent Mage of Arapol found laughable against the cruel fates he had to endure since departing The University of the Mystical Arts of the Arcane Mysteries, that was more commonly known as the Wizard Academy by the simple and common folk.
"

Coming Soon

Got the cover drawn and done and so hopefully Horror of Hellgarde will be posted up for sale on the Nook.

Update On In the Shadows

Update On Ashes of the Fallen's First Book, In the Shadows.

Finished Chapter Ten and started Chapter Eleven for In the Shadows, first book of the Ashes of the Fallen Series of books I'm working on.   The word count is now at 21,898.  Which means I am now at novella territory, a first for me to have a story with that many words.   I just need roughly another 10,000 (in general) to 20,000 (fantasy/sf novel) words to reach a word count that's considered novel length.  If it goes over the 20,000 that'll still be cool with me as it's more important to have a novel length that finishes the first book properly rather then meeting an exact word count to me.   

I hope I have this book is finished soon, and hope to work more on some other projects; but want to get the first draft of this written up in this new story line. Originally this was written up; but I've altered things very drastically from that initial draft.  The series had never finished itself where I was posting it up on the art site I used to frequent.  That first version moved faster then this one.  I slowed it down, as I had wanted to have more of the right feel instead of trying to rush to scenes I longed to write and enjoyed writing.   

News on Horror of Hellgarde

I know it is late in saying this, but to my blog readers, I wish you all a Happy New Year.   I have hired an artist for Horror of Hellgarde.  So hopefully it shall be up soon.  

Here is a sample of Horror of Hellgarde:

I

   “Do not speak lightly such names, Wiccan.”  the old man wagged his finger, “If it were me I should forget going all together.   Arizau was never a wholesome place, and since His death the curse has only made Hellwood worse.”

   The crimson banged, brunette Hultan seemed to mutter half to himself in a matter of factly tone, “That is my road, for good or ill.”

   The old man shook his head, “If you insist on going, Wiccan, at least see sense and hire a carriage or horse and give wide berth to those cursed woods.”

   “You know little of my kind, old man.   No beast of burden will bear my sorcerous weight.”

   The old man grunted and folded his arms across his chest, “Suit yourself.   Remember that I warned you, so don’t come haunting me after some fiend has gnawed out your guts.”

   “And for that you have my sincere thanks old man.  It is more then most would have given one of my kind.”   With that the Hultan known as Mordecai, once of House Lee, again began to traverse the road towards Arizau.  The scowling figure of the old man sitting on the step of the ramshackle inn faded into the distance.  For an ordinary traveler on foot the next village, Rakrow, lay four days ahead, however for the Hultan it had taken little more than a day and a half.   

   The Hultan struck an impressive image as he strode into the silent village of Rakrow.  The setting sunlight had cast an unearthly aura over his dark locks and blood red bangs, his dark blue, weather beaten traveler’s cloak and black body glove armor made him appear like some feared demon out of the ancient legends.  His golden eyes shimmered in the fading sunlight as he surveyed the village.   The dirt streets were completely empty of all human traffic, and nervous eyes peered from shuttered windows.  As he drew closer to the center of the village he could make out four shadowy figures waiting for him.  

   Mordecai stopped before this small force.   Their leader appeared to be a middle aged man in  worn leather pants, a faded blue shirt, with a dusty brown vest covering it.   On that dusty vest rested a faded star, the badge of his constable position within this village.  This constable kept an old saber strapped to his hip. Mordecai smelt fear rolling off of him; but despite that the constable seemed to be putting up a brave front as the wealthy seeming man, no doubt the village’s mayor, flanked him with the town’s doctor at the other flank and some youthful deputy taking the rear guard position, only the mayor and constable bearing swords as the other two held clubs in their hands, but all four seemed filled with superstitious fear.
   
   The constable‘s hand rested uneasily on the pommel of his saber, “We don’t take kindly to strangers, especially ones like you.”  It was at that point that the one the Hultan took to be the village mayor spoke up, “We have never welcomed servants of the Old Boyars.  Best you slink back into whatever hell pit you crawled out from.”

   The doctor and youth muttered, “Yeah.”

   Mordecai had expected such a reaction reaction.   It was how many villagers reacted to the presence of Hultans and other ‘unnatural’ creatures.  He did not hold their distrust against them, after all it was distrust and staying vigilant that kept a village around longer than those that openly let in strangers.  And it was not like some of the constable’s words were untrue.  In the past many Hultans had been the servants of the vampyre, known as the Nobility or in the case of peasants as the Old Boyars.

   Mordecai informed those gathered before him, “I am no servant to the Old Boyars.  I am merely passing through to Arizau.”

   The constable’s warning came swiftly to his lips, “Then keep moving, demon eyes.”

   The mayor at that point spoke up again in a quivering voice, “And never pass through here again.”

   Mordecai felt those hateful, nervous eyes boring into his back as he continued to make his way through the village, and back out onto the road.  The Hultan had decided that he would put some distance between himself and Rakrow before taking his rest for the night.


*********

   He had not slept since he had first entered Hellwood four days ago, and already the Hultan felt the weariness of sleep deprivation beginning to take it’s toll.  There was no other explanation for finding himself in this situation.   Only seconds ago daylight faintly filtered into the foggy gloom of Hellwood, and now an unnatural darkness had settled over his trail.  Cautiously Mordecai stalked these woods with his keen senses alert.  He nearly choked on the noisome presence of the thickly encompassing demonic miasma.   The Hultan’s left hand unsheathed his cheap sword and with a single swift slash, he cut at the dark miasma and returned the blade to it‘s sheath all in one fluid motion.  Green pus and vapor spilled out into the air making the Hultan gag on the foul aroma while along the blade danced a shimmering red light; soon he saw more such tiny dots of light dancing in the near distance.  

   Mordecai observed to himself in mild annoyance, “Faery Lights.”  He knew that no matter what path he took he would have to confront those lights before he could progress further into the woods.