World of Diamic

Epic War eBook released.

2013-04-15T12:01:00.002-07:00

The Epic War is now available in eBook format and should be compatible for most eBook reading devices, I am hoping to release it in kindle some time later if possible. It is compatible for most other devices. If you are reading it on PC I highly recommend downloading NOOK for PC, I'm pretty sure the download is free, and the view is very easy on the eyes.

In any case the cost is much lower than the paperback version at only $3.00

You can get it here

(update 4/18/2013) Now available on Kindle. You may acquire the book in kindle format from amazon.com by clicking here

Thank you all for your patience and your support in this writer's journey. God bless,

-David B. Beaver, author.

Brotherly Art

2013-04-15T05:45:00.001-07:00

The Epic War as you know is available in paperback form, I'm in the process of reformatting so I can release the EBook edition, which should be here tomorrow or the day after. In the meanwhile I thought those of you who don't like the Facebook page might enjoy some artwork I shared on there. God has blessed me with both a supportive and talented family, so here below are the most recently fantasy artwork masterpieces by a couple of my younger brothers.

First we have a mighty green dragon by James Beaver, age 10Then

Then we have a friendly orc warrior by Matt Beaver, age 15

Thanks for viewing and keep checking back for update, stories, and sometimes artistic treats like this. Many blessings,

The Epic War is here!

2013-04-13T03:13:00.005-07:00

The Epic War has been released as promised in paperback form. I will be doing an EBook release when I have everything properly formatted for that endeavor. Below will be the official press release. Thank you all for your support. If you go on our Facebook there is a post you can click 'like' on and I will send you a free chapter as a sample of the work. You can buy the paperback today at the storefront

It has been an exciting journey so far, thank you all so much for your support.

Independent fantasy author and freelance writer David B. Beaver has announced the release of his latest fantasy adventure ‘Epic War’.

‘Epic War’ follows the life of Mulgy the barbarian who spent the early part of his life raised by a kindhearted and mystical centaur. Eventually the two departed ways and Mulgy went off to live among and eventually rule the People of the Sun, the most advanced of the scattered barbarian tribes of the world of Diamic. During the Age of Blood the people of Diamic were divided and constantly at each other’s throats. The Demon King saw this as an opportunity to conquer the divided fantasy world with his army of orcs and convert Diamic into one of the planes of Hell. It will be up to Mulgy to unite the scattered tribes through wit, force, and perhaps most importantly the power of brotherly love, and move his armies against the orcs who dwell in the Heartland and replenish their forces by a dark and magical portal. It will be a war of ages, and an Epic War. You won’t want to miss it.

“This is a classic sword and sorcery fantasy with a touch of the speculative genre.” David said of his work. “On one hand you have a barbarian king conquering his names with a sword and his wits, both as sharp as a steel blade, but on the other hand you have a much deeper story. There are relationships of every kind, unique characters from every fantasy race, and a much deeper story.”

“The name ‘Mulgy’ comes from an ancient barbarian language in Diamic.” Mr. Beaver continued. “The word literally means ‘mistake’. Yet here we have someone who was designated and dismissed by most as a ‘mistake’ who will rise not only to become a king, but to overcome impossible odds and force back an evil threat from the world forever. Here then the loser becomes a leader, and leader rises to become a hero. I think it’s a story we can all relate to.”

Epic War will be available as both an EBook and a paperback release on Lulu.com and other venues.

Links and more information can be found on David’s blog, www.worldofdiamic.blogspot.com as well as his Facebook page www.facebook.com/worldofdiamic.

David B. Beaver has considered himself a writer in heart since childhood. He has self-published a previous fantasy novel, the First Free King of the North also available at lulu.com and as an EBook at many other venues. He did not take his writing career seriously, however, until the beginning of 2012 when he wrote a couple of articles for Yahoo! and began as a freelancer at Odesk.com. Since then he has written and ghostwritten many articles, blog posts, stories, and much more. Some of his debut short stories include Squire Ryanus and Mage Finals, and most recently Guise Markets, which he has published with Short Story Press.

David B. Beaver is available for interview in the area of Cumberland County PA, and can be contact at his email worldofdiamic@yahoo.com. Further contact information can be furbished upon further request. His titles are available on Lulu.com and others. More information can be found on his blog at www.worldofdiamic.blogspot.com where he shares some of his free works of fiction and information about his fantasy world, as well as updates and events.

We have a facebook page!

2013-04-09T05:37:00.005-07:00

Some of you who have read my blog posts might be interested to know that the world of Diamic has a whole Facebook page dedicated to it. Here you will find artwork, fun fantasy posts, and quick little updates you might not always see here on the blog. . We will also be holding some contests and promotions through the Facebook page, plus you can show off your love for a unique indie fantasy fiction world and author to all of your friends. So if you have a Facebook check us out at

WorldofDiamic

Please like and/or share our page and any posts you enjoy to support our world. The citizens of Diamic of every race, faith, and region humbly thank you. Without our readers after all, we could not exist.

Epic War Release April 13 2013

2013-04-08T02:33:00.002-07:00

For those of you who may be interested this is to inform you that the Epic War will soon be released in a paperback edition. It has been a long and perilous journey. Beyond the perils presented by the Demon King and his orcish hordes many trials and perils have been encountered along the way in the writing of this story and the experience of this journey. I finished the rough draft for the book and got about half way through the rewrite, which is stage 2 of the author's journey. Then my computer crashed forcing me start the rewrite over. I am now wrapping up the process of proof-reading. Without the use of professional editing services I am forced to extra time and effort so that I can deliver an unflawed product to you, my readers, and thus maximize the quality of your experience in my world. Thank you for your patience.

The book will be available in paperback form on lulu.com first. I also plan to release an EBook version which should be compatible for Nook, most apple devices, and many more portable reading electronics. It may not work for kindle depending on what format I publish with, but if possible I will try to break into the kindle market as well. The EBook will come later simply because I will have to reformat the file for maximum compatibility and ease of reading.

The paperback will be released on April 13 2013, and the EBook as soon after as I can best reformat it. You can check out our marketplace on Lulu otherwise I will provide links.. This book is somewhat of a prequel to my book The First Free King of the North so I suggest you read both books to maximize your fantasy adventure. If you can't wait for the release or want to wet your appetite you may purchase the First Free King of the North in paperback or EBook format online now at our storefront market place. Thank you all for your patience and support so far. Without you, my reader, my dreams would be little more than dust. Thank you all and God bless,

David B. Beaver, the author.

The Market Place

2013-03-30T05:55:00.002-07:00

The market is the primary place for Diamicans to obtain goods and services as well as to offer them. Markets come in many forms of course, some are humble trading posts or outdoor collections of carts and tents from travelling merchants. Others are clusters buildings gathered in Market Districts of major cities. Some can even be found temporarily on festival grounds for special occasions and even at tournaments. Below is a travelling market place consisting mostly of traders who have emigrated from the nation of Calashaman.

Click here to visit OUR maerketplace, where you can find our published novels along with a few freebies.

The Great Fall of Diamic

2013-03-12T08:46:00.000-07:00

The history of Diamic is a long and rich one. It is divided into ages starting with the dawn of its creation in the Age of Paradise. During this time all the races lived as one on the Heartland in their glorious cities. No death or sickness existed and the people lived forever. Then however, the Great Fall occurred leading to the Age of Blood, which wouldnt end until The Epic War gave way to the Age of Truth. The religious priests, historical scholars, and philosophers all disagree on exactly what led to the fall but here is one story mant Diamicans seem to enjoy and accept as one version of the truth.

The Great Fall

In the forgotten Age of Paradise man and dwarf, and elf and halfling dwelled together one

A mist of water dew rose up and blew within the air, keeping them cool from burning sun

The plants and animals grew in number serving, loving man without a fear

Even in the evening time the lights burned bright, the moons, the stars and all their beams

Made the night so bright and clear

Together the Races of Man built a city where they dwelt together

At the center they built a temple a circle of stone pillars lined up with sun and moon

Where God himself would come and with his creation he would commune

The Age Paradise long forgotten, was an age of peace and life

The people grew number and knew no death

They took in joy and released contentment, with their every blissful breath

They ate of all the fruits the land could offer

Their lips, and eyes, and hands enjoyed Dragonia’s world, forged of sacred incense

Yet every time he came to visit at the temple to bless his people and share his love he reminded them of one command

“I have given you all creation. The oceans and the mountains, the grass fields and all the sand

The beasts and plant life in the lands…are yours to enjoy I give them to your hands

But I ask of you one thing, do not drink the blood of the earth, from the springs of Forbidden Mountain

For in them are knowledge and greatness, but those that only come from death and hardship

I will give you anything that you should ask when you are ready, but do not drink the blood of my creation.”

And with his parting words he’d share his love

Then he’d descend to his domain far above

The day had come when man was dwelling late at night within his keep

He wandered aimlessly through the night, too much time upon his hands

For men did not grow weary at this time, therefore they had no need of sleep

Above his fireplace, long-neglected he found a lovely spider’s web

“What is this?” he asked in awe

Then he saw a delicate little beast, eight legs in all

He tugged the web softly, and towards his hand it began to crawl

Nibbling lovingly at the man’s big hand she smiled into his eyes

And there she beckoned him closer and whispered in his ear

While in his heart she weaved her web of lies

“Listen closely man, and heed my words.”

“I have never seen a creature like you” said the man. “Yet I have named all the beasts that crawl the earth,

The fish that swim the sea, and even flying birds.

Who is this tiny, lovely creature that greets me now?”

“Deceit would be my given name,

For your God, Dragonia has banished me from heaven

And now I dwell beneath the earth in shame.”

Staring at her web, a certain tear came to into his eyes

The spider smiled slyly, for she knew he thought himself as wise

“For what were you banished creature of heaven?” asked Man.

“For taking what rightfully belongs to me!” cried she.

“For showing you great things he wants you not to see…”

“Explain,” beckoned man, in great concern

The webs glowed brightly as if they might begin to burn

Hot with lies the master spider began to sew

“If you come with me there are many things to show

Your God has many secrets he doesn’t wish for you to know

Yet I say knowledge is yours to take; I say truth is yours to make

He wishes for you not to know that you are wiser than he could ever hope to be

Seek not Dragonia’s face

But make the truth your own; go and gather every race

Tell them to drink the blood of the earth so that your world and you become as one

Then you will be God, and you’ll shine greater than his Son.”

Taken in by vile lies the man obsessed and paced to and fro within his halls

Everyday and every night he heard the spiders words, and felt tugging on his heart her nightly calls

His eyes turned red obsessed with blood and power

Locked away within a tower he thought of what to do

He forsook the gatherings at the temple, too taken by a promise that wasn’t even true

Finally he broke and gathered all the townsfolk in a meeting

He repeated all the lies that he’d been told

Empty promises vain and bold

Knowledge, power, glory, wealth

All these things he promised and raised his foaming mug in toast to health

Al were taken in by Man’s bold words, for the tongue of Man was craftier than all

Together they climbed their mount of doom

Colder grew the air; thicker grew the cloudy gloom

At last they reached the top and walked upon the mountain’s face

Struck in wonder they saw the blood boiling inside the mighty forge

Shimmering with magic power and glowing brightly red it called to them

“Here we are,” announced the elven priest. “The heart of the earth,

But I beseech you all to go no further for this is sacred ground

From this spring comes life, from this blood we received that gift

From this heart where all life was birthed

I beseech you defile not her fluids, defile not her beauty”

The elves turned to their leader and bowed their lowly heads

They repented and there they left and with their feet returned

The priest’s son even wept as he walked down the mountain path

But within his daughter’s heart a wicked passion burned

“Cowards!” she cried in great disdain. “Leave if you wish but I will claim what rightfully belongs to me!”

She scowled and shook her head and caste a glare their way

Yellow, catlike eyes turned back and stared into the burning pit

“Let us not drink the blood to start, but let us be clean to partake of its delights!” she cried.

Stripping off her garments she jumped into the bubbling spring

Dancing naked she laughed aloud and then began to sing

Her cousins followed her with many splashes

Then Man with a smile on his face

Dove in and beckoned every race

“Join us!” he cried in glee

Then they drank of the blood and bathed within her depths

And together they partook in orgy

Dragonia arrived in all his glory to an empty temple hall

In a mighty voice he cried “Come down my people from the mountain!”

But he was too late and the people refused to hear His call

Dragonia sprouted wings and grew in size

Scales covered up his smooth and gentle skin

He roared in fury and fire consumed his angry eyes

He flew up to the mountain and struck the highest peak with his tail

“Why have you done this?” asked his angry voice

The people froze “Who are you?” Man was first to speak

Dragonia sighed in pity, “You have forgotten me”

“What are you?” said Man, backing away in fear

“I Am. Dragonia, ‘god of all’ and you have forgotten me

You have drank the blood of the earth and turned your back on me

I have given you a choice

To be my friend and walk forever by my side

But you have spoken in your actions and I have heard your voice

You have turned your back on me in search of power and knowledge to make your own

I would have given you all these things in time

In my light so glorious, you would grow and shine

But you have sought a path your own

You have chosen to search and walk alone

But only through suffering will glory and wisdom be yours to take

You will rise and fall, you will fight and die until the day you break”

He turned his eye on man “You have led my people all astray

I will split your house to keep your will at bay

Two houses of Man will go their separate ways

To the first I give the harsh, cold lands of the north where lies the silver moon

For your people shall seek the gold of life but their journey fails too soon

And to the second house I give the torrid desert lands, yonder south

Above that land there lies a moon, the color red

Symbolizing all the blood that men will shed”

Mighty Dragonia turned then to staunch and stubborn dwarves

“And to you I give the lands of the golden west

A golden moon shines above the best

For man led you astray, but you are still at fault this day”

In pity He turned to the house of the elven priest

“Go home enjoy a splendid feast

For I have given you the east

You have not betrayed me and thus have proven friend

But nonetheless my time within this world must end

The world will die around you, and even you must partake of death

But I will give you life and purest breath

Disease will not afflict as the others

You shall wear and age ten times slower than your brothers

Very seldom will your skin pick up dirt

But nonetheless I must leave you in this world for I am hurt

But in spirit I am with you

And I will use your people to restore the cursed heart of the earth”

“And what of me?” asked the elf priest’s daughter

“You have shamed your house, and cursed your father

You are unworthy to walk the earth with them

You are beneath your father’s feet and as such you shall dwell beneath the world they walk on

You shall hide in darkness and walk in shame”

“Master Dragonia, for my sake spare my daughter.

For if you banish them to that world below, the Dark Realms, they shall surely die

Perversions, monsters, and all other things await them

And if I lose my daughter I shall surely weep and cry!”

“Then I will hide her in the dark and bless her elven eyes to see

She will have advantage in every fight

In that her skin will be as black and dark as night

Though you dwell in ruin beneath the world I appoint you rulers of the dark”

When the races left the Heart behind in shame

Dragonia flew away as well and sent his rain

For seven years the water fell and soaked the ground

And for seven more his mighty sun baked and scorched the earth

The continent would lie in ruin until the end of time

And the Heart of th Earth bubbled and boiled evermore

The blood become brighter and hotter than before

So hot and bright the blood became that no hand could touch it anymore

And as years flew by, all forgot their God, even the elves, his chosen people

And they began destroying themselves in war

Yet Dragonia did not forget his people and their pain

And swore He would send a Messiah, and He would save them once again…

The Epic War is Nearly Finished

2013-02-25T16:24:00.004-08:00

I have completed the rough draft for this novel, meaning the story in its entirety is basically finished. I will have to do some rewriting to improve the prose and make the words run together a little more smoothly. I will also have to edit for grammar. This is all the easy part. The interesting part will be reformatting. smashwords, through whom i hope to publish the ebook version has very strict requirements for formatting ebooks, and i will therefore have to struggle to adhere to them.

I will probably also be releasing a paperback on lulu, so i will have to have a particular format for that as well.

So as the man from the movie Finding Forester says, "The final copy you write with your brain, the rough draft you write with your heart." therefore this will be the part I have to write with my brain. I do hope to release it soon, however. Thank you all for bearing patiently, I hope you'll enjoy the book when it comes out.

After this is all said and done I will begin working on my autobiography.

Creative Art for The Artistically challenged

2013-02-17T13:54:00.001-08:00

Blakthar Swamp is a treacherous place in the realm of Diamic, ruled by an evil witch in her dark lair overlooking the swampy wastelands. She deals mostly in illusionary magic, which only the strong of will and courageous in heart will survive without succumbing to madness.

Below is a primitively put together rendition of her Lair. I am not an artist and I'm sure it shows here, but it's all about fun, creativity and trying new things. I simply found a series of photos and used the copy and paste and masking AKA "selection" feature of Microsoft Paint to take segments from the real world and paste them cleverly into my own. And to think this all started with a photo I took of a black pitchforked shaped eraser i bought from a 50 cents novelty dispenser...thanks for viewing...

Horror Short Story Released: Guise Markets

2013-02-05T00:57:00.004-08:00

Greetings faithful followers,

We are excited to announce the release of a new horror short story entitled Guise Markets.

This story follows the experience of our protagonist Jack, who obtains employment at a local grocery store, Guise Markets. Jack has just graduated high school and he decide to forego the college route pursued by his peers and jump right into the work force by applying at a local favorite grocery store.

In this horror short story he begins his position as an overnight stocker. Everything seems pretty normal and mostly mundane, however something seems a little strange about this grocery store. Items randomly fall of the shelves, shadows are seen out of the corner of the eye, and the longer Jack works there the stranger things get. Jack finds a level of comfort knowing he'll be working with his best and lifelong friend Lilac, and yet even she is not what she seems. Jack will discover that Lilac has a peculiar connection to the store and the company as a whole. Together they will unlock the mysteries of this haunted grocery store, but they will find themselves in way over their heads as they awaken a terrible past.

Will Jack and Lilac survive the horrors that they awake? Will they unravel the mysteries of the stores history, or some things best left undiscovered? There's only one way to find out.

This horror short story is brought to you by Short Story Press, and available as an Ebook on amazon's kindle store, Barnes&Noble's nook store, and many other platforms. Check out this unique horror short story today and discover the secrets of this seemingly quaint and simple retail chain...if you dare.

Get your electronic copy of this thrilling horror short story today!

Here's a link for those partial to Amazon: http://www.amazon.com/Short-Story-Presents-Markets-ebook/dp/B00B3YSIYC/ref=sr_1_1?s=digital-text&ie=UTF8&qid=1360053871&sr=1-1&keywords=guise+markets

Advice to Writers

2013-01-20T05:55:00.002-08:00

As I've been doing this blog I have been mostly focusing on my creative writing, in words other sharing my fantasy fiction, poetry, short stories, and so on and so forth. I've also tried to make this a promotional thing for my stories. All this aside however, I suddenly realized that there are others like me out there who might find this information useful. As freelance writers we are on a journey, and it is one we likely won't get far on if we try to embark on it alone. I would like to see more communities for freelance writers who could get together and network, wouldn't it be great if we could help each other? If someone does see something like this let me know and in exchange I've decided to offer my knowledge. So here is some advice to writers. In the spirit of both being practical and trying to help out my brothers and sisters in the craft I've decided to offer my own freelance writing tips.

The first difficulty you're going to face is an obvious one. Who's going to pay you to write? Who's looking for people to write fiction or poetry? The latter I can tell you not many. My first bit of writing advice: save poetry for a hobby. You can start a blog or a website like many or just share it with friends, but find some way to share it. Local magazines may also be interested so don't be afraid to send in some submissions, but poetry writers should be prepared for the fact that poetry may not be a step in their journey towards greatness.

As for article writers, these are the people who will be most successful in the beginning. I've written a few short stories and been paid for them, at least three of those stories are ones that I can claim credit for. I was not able to get a story published, however, until i proved to other that I could write. Many story writers have started out as article writers, copy writers, or content writers, whatever you want to call it. Believe it or not the three are pretty similar, but these are freelance writing tips, this is not me writing a book on freelance writing, perhaps I'll write that some day. Anyway, the first work I ever published was not a novel or a short story, and certainly was not a poem. The first work I ever published, that I was paid for (that's important because anyone can publish as I'm publishing on this blog, not everyone can get paid for it, that's what paying clients will want to see) The first work I published and was paid for was written at the time of last year's republican primary for the presidential race of 2012, that's right, it was a political commentary. I was paid a small sum and featured on Yahoo! news, the article received over 5,000 hits in just a few days, and Yahoo! asked for another a few weeks later. Unfortunately unless your articles hit millions on Yahoo! you won't get many offer to write, so I used Yahoo! as a stepping stone. At last now I had two articles, political commentaries, that i was paid for and was featured on a reputable website. I could put these in my portfolio and proved to potential clients that I could not only write, but write professionally. Those of us who would strive to write then, may wish to start out as article writers. So my first bit of advice to writers, be willing to write outside what you want to write. Sometimes writing is a chore and it is work, and you have to start somewhere, so be flexible.

When you are writing an article that seems boring and is not on a subject you love writing about, try to remind yourself that you could sitting in a cubicle or killing yourself in a warehouse, or worse yet flipping a burger. As a freelance writer, you're sitting at home in front of a computer, and doing something you enjoy, writing! And you are getting paid to do it! So there's your first freelance writing tip.

Now my next advice to writers is this: you have to find a place to network with potential clients, and you have to make sure it's reliable. In the spirit of giving freelance writing tips that are practical and help us avoid potential problems, I will offer my own experience. There are many great freelance writing markets, so use them. My preferred freelance writing market of choice is Odesk.com, freelancers.com is another, and more newly discovered Staff.com also offer freelance writing opportunities. These websites offer you two things: first there's the network aspect of it. The websites connect you with thousands of people who are looking for someone just like you. You can apply for writing jobs and as you beef up your profile with experience, skills, and a great portfolio, some of the jobs will come running to you! So you need a middleman to connect you to those potential freelance writing clients. The second thing these website offer you is security. In other words you now you're going to get paid for the work you do, but only if you follow my next piece of advice to writers...

I haven't used the other websites, so i can only speaker for my freelance writers on Odesk. When you look at a potential client or job there's things you need to look for. First don't ever work with these people outside of Odesk. This means you no longer have the power. First of all it's a violation of Odesk's terms, therefore don't even both reporting someone once you've been scammed, but secondly it taes away all the safeguards Odesk intentionally put in place. First there's the power of feedback, most clients care about their reputation and want to work with other writers on Odesk. So if they don't pay you or are difficult to work with you have the power to leave negative feedback, but only if you actually start a contract THROUGH Odesk. Secondly when you actually work as a freelance writer on a site like Odesk look for some things before you agree to it. The first thing to look for is if their payment method is verified. This means they have a credit card, bank account, or some other means connected to their Odesk account in order to pay those who work for them. If this is not verified and they're already hiring people, in my experience, they have no intention of paying you for your freelance writing. Also make sure they have good feedback, what others experience has been in the past is a good indication of what it will be with you. If they don't have any feedback it's ok to take a risk, maybe they are just new to the website. But if you want to get paid for freelance writing, make sure the payment method is verified. These are just a few measures to protect yourself.

So freelance writing markets like Odesk, freelancer, etc. etc. Are useful for at least two things for freelance writing jobs. One it connects you to people you'd otherwise spend years finding, and two it creates a system that allows you to get paid, and provides safeguards should predators take advantage, and they are out there. So take my advice to writers, don't write without a proven client like one of these freelance writing markets, UNLESS, you know the person personally. I might make a whole new blog post about freelance writing scams, but for now I'll only touch on it briefly. Beware of freelance writing scams. If you practice the above advice, chances are you won't have a problem.

Now back to becoming article writers. My advice to writers is only take jobs you can handle. I write as a freelancer but I also work a "real" job away from the computer to pay the bills. So if somebody has a job where I'm required to sit at my computer 8 hours a day or write large amounts articles that require that much time I don't take them. Remember you can give feedback for clients you work with, but they have the same ability, and it can take years to build a reputation as a great freelance writer, but only a day to destroy. I have 6 positive 5 star feedbacks from clients I've worked with. At this point one negative feedback could send me right back to the drawing board, and if I take a job I can't handle and fail to meet the deadline or the high standards, it could ruin my previous hard work. Also make sure that as article writers you only take jobs writing on a subject matter you either understand or can easily learn. If you don't know what you're writing about it could show in your performance.

Once you've built a reputation more jobs will become available to you, be willing to start small. If you work for a client who only pays you $1 per article, as I started, and receive positive feedback, it makes you more desirable for those who pay more. I have grown my income in this manner, but I've had to start small, and I continue grow in babysteps. Eventually as I've had to humble myself as a freelance writer jobs have opened up to me that I wanted in the first place, but I had to start small.

My last piece of advice to writers is this: it is a journey not a destination. Keep this in mind and over the years you may yet achieve your dreams of becoming a freelance writer. I hope you enjoyed my freelance writing tips, I hope to publish more in the future if this proves to be something that generates some interest. Thanks for reading and best of luck in your pursuits.

Gorluck And The Orc Mines

2013-01-08T16:57:00.000-08:00

Gorluck and The Orc MinesDavid B. Beaver
Gorluck Moorefiend, blacksmith extraordinaire contentedly
beat the red-hot iron with a perfect combination of power, precision, and grace
that only an orc of his stature could deliver. Sparks flew from the metal as he
fitted it with his hammer into a new, shining sword. When at last he finished he
took the blade from the anvil and cooled in a steaming water basin, and placed
it on one of the many shelves of his dimly lit shop. Green skin glistened, damp
with sweat from the heat of his forge, and stretched over a massive sinuous
layer of muscle. He released a contented sigh, arms crossed and a peaceful smile
on his face. Arlisburg stood proudly, the sprawling capital city of Davainia,
and one of the most prosperous and diverse cities in the northlands. Only in
this city could an orc like him live peacefully with humans, and work hard as he
had to successfully build a better life. All that eluded him now was that
special female and the family he would raise with her, but he knew that would
come with time.

Suddenly a creak sounded and a light bell rang to announce the opening of a door. Gorluck
glanced at the timid, nervous looking man as he paced nervously around the small
shop. He stared hopelessly at the shelves of weapons scattered all about. He
rubbed his chin in frustration, trembling evermore nervously, fidgeting and
playing with a thin, light brown mustache. Clad in old, worn, rusty iron armor
he paced more and more frantically.

“A city this size you’d think you could find something so simple as…”
“Armor…?” Gorluck interrupted his spoken thoughts. His gruff voice pierced the air and shook the timid man, who jumped and gasped at the sound of the orc’s frightening voice. Fortunately, he retained his composure as the tall, intimidating humanoid approached. “I only make weapons, I make them the better than anyone in Arlisburg too,” he boasted with a grin. “But I don’t touch that armor stuff.”
“No, no, I’m looking for a weapon, a great sword to be exact.”
“Oh…?” the orc said. “We got plenty of those, but you don’t look like the type to wield
a great sword, you might strain yourself. May I suggested a short sword to help
you build up your skills? I got a nice gold one here if you’re a big spender…”
“Oh it’s not for me, but for my master. He’s the great paladin Rondar Benedict, of the
Order of the Just Ruler.”
“Another paladin order I never heard of? Are they new?”
“No they’ve been around for…never mind I need to find him a great sword, but none of these will do.”
“Heh! He’s a picky one eh? Well I have some fine jewel studded great swords he might
like, they’re in the storeroom, I was saving them for a special occasion but…”
“No, no! I need to find him…the perfect sword. It must be exceptionally crafted of the perfect metal suited for a paladin of his stature.”
“Describe it, maybe I can help you find it.”
“Well, it has to be light as a feather in weight.”
“Copper…” the orc suggested.
“It must shine brightly and blinding in the light of the sun…”
“Polished silver…”
“It must deliver a deadly blow of death, and be hard and stubbornly unwilling to bend or
break!”
“Iron,” mused the orc.
“No, no!” said the man. “It must be a rare and valuable substance, expensive…”
“Gold.”
“It must be an incorruptible substance, a substance of purity, untouched by any tarnish,
incapable of rust or decay. A substance of beauty and eloquence, and one that symbolizes the very virtue of purity.”
“Mithril.” They both said in unison.
“Ok, you want Mithril, you’ll get Mithril,” said the orc. “come back in exactly two days
from this date and I’ll have it for you.”

Gorluck proceeded wordlessly to put on his finest suit of heavy plated armor, made by a
dwarf friend of his. Then he buckled a belt around his waist, equipped with
several sheaths, which he loaded up with small throwing axes. He took off his
shoes and wore his finest, hardened leather boots and covered up his head with a
rusty metal helm. Then he took his finest silver, great axe and rested it gently
on his shoulder.

“Wha-what are you doing?” the man stuttered. “Where are you
going?”
“I’m going to get your Mithril so I can make your weapon. There’s only one mine in
this region that has it, and getting in won’t be pretty. Tell your master I’m
charging him extra for any limbs I lose, and triple if it costs my
head.”
* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *
Birds sang and a soft breeze blew through the air. Somewhere in the distance the faint
flowing sound of running water could be heard, Gorluck knew he was close.
Nonetheless he walked slowly, looking around, listening, and stopping on
occasion to admire the beauty. He saw nature in the city too scarcely. As many
times as he went in and out it never got old. He never ceased to see the beauty
in both. In the business of the city though, he had forgotten how much he
appreciated the space, the open land, and the green grass, but most of all the
silence. Only in the silence, he found, could the whispering voice of the gods
be heard. Gorluck knew not which of them he served. There were many faiths in
Davainia, some that accepted all the gods, some who worshipped only one. The
most compelling to him was the god Dragonia, “god of all” in the ancient tongue,
Mystic. The followers of Dragonia insisted that He was the one true God, and he
alone was worthy of worship. It seemed fitting to him that one solitary God, a
brilliant artist and poet, a great administrator, should rule over a universe such as this…but then the opposite could be true. Who knew? Gorluck, ever living in the here and now, focused on the difficult task ahead. He knew of only one deposit of Mithril, in all of Davainia, but he knew it would take an army to claim. Could he, one orc, take on his kin who selfishly, hoarded it for
themselves? Maybe he wouldn’t have to contest with them, he reasoned, maybe he
could purchase some. He put aside such false hopes, however, he knew better. The
orcs were a stubborn and hardheaded people, not prone to making deals. He knew this to be true because he often saw such traits in himself. Yet living in Davainian culture, as diverse as it was, somehow he became something else. He wasn’t an orc anymore, but not really human either.
“I’m not an orc, or an elf, or a man, or anything else…” he once confided in a friend. “I’m just…Gorluck.” And indeed he was.

The sound of running water slowly grew louder and clearer as he nervously approached the bridge. Only brave adventurers came this way, even soldiers treaded carefully. The orcs inhabited Davainian land, but they claimed it as their own years ago. Trying to rebuild after the
War of Races, the king had no desire for another quarrel within his own kingdom,
and so he mostly left them be. This day however, Gorluck would not be so
generous.

“Hey, you’re not one of us…” a short, high-voiced little creature came up to him from the bridge. Dark yellow skin, twisted facial features, and long, pointed ears that stuck out far and wide to
the side of the slightly oversized head identified this child-sized creature as
a full grown goblin. “You one of them city orcs, no better than humankind. Just go home and we not kill you!”
“The human farmers and merchants here might be scared of you, but I’m not.” Gorluck
declared solemnly. “It’s ignorant to pick on weak humans who can’t defend themselves, but just plain stupid to pick on an orc who can.”
“Go home now!”
“Not until I get my Mithril.”
“He trying to steal the shinies! Get him!” the goblin screeched.

Seemingly out of nowhere, more goblins than Gorluck could count in time came jumping out of nowhere, screeching a head throbbing, earsplitting, battle cry. Gorluck grunted, shaking his head. “I just got rid of this morning’s headache too.” He lamented. He swung his axe with speed and power that knocked every goblin to the side like dust beneath a broom, but with great vigor they got up again, daggers in hand this time. Poorly crafted arrows flew at him from further way, leaving tiny dents in his lightly clanging armor before they bounced away. He swung his axe again, angrily, but gracefully through the air. The blade met a goblin and swiftly removed his head upon acquaintance. He swung the axe back the way it came, and the dull edge slammed into five more, who were not so lucky as the first. Each of them toppled away, splashing into the nearby river. Carried away by the current they screamed to the river-god for mercy, but he refused their cry, for goblins could not swim. Gorluck ran forward, voicing his own, deep, lion-like roar of a battle cry. He knocked two attacking goblin’s aside with the handle of his axe, and to the two with bows and arrows he gave the blade. The first one flew away, the metal slamming against his chest. He landed hard on his back and stayed lying there to wait for a slow and bleeding death. The last goblin standing learned quickly from the mistakes of the others. He turned away, hands in the air, screaming. His short bow landed lightly in the soft, green grass as he ran away faster than he thought any goblin could.

Gorluck smiled rubbing his hand together after a job well done. He pat his brow with his hand lightly as if checking it. “Nope…not a single broken sweat.” He chuckled to himself. “But of course…that was the easy part.”

The rest of the way to the cave was rather easy. He walked across the river valley. The wolves nearby dared not attack the armed orc, especially in daylight. The birds still sang and the river still ran its course as Gorluck made his way through a small patch of peaceful woods. This
time Gorluck made no stops to admire the beauty of the nature all around.

Instead he gazed around cautiously, heart pounding, head turning to and fro, he watched for danger he knew would come. It was not a matter if, he knew, but whenthe other orcs would meet him. He came to a clearing in the woods, to more open land. Walking across plains of green grass, he came to a slope that led upward into slightly more mountainous terrain. Mountains were all too rare in Davainia, he mused. His musings died quickly in that peaceful valley, however, interrupted by the startling sight of a small gathering of orcs just outside a cave. Some of them were clad in rusty metal armor; others dressed in poor brown robes or loincloths.

“Fighters and shaman’s,” he mused. “This should be a good
fight.” Then he looked above the cave, hidden in the mountains were two dressed in leather and armed with bows. Gorluck’s eyes squinted as he took out one of his sharpened axes from the sheathes around his belt and he lifted it into the air. He aimed carefully for one of the archers and threw the axe with all the strength a hammer-pounding smith could muster. The axe sank quickly into the archer’s forehead, and he fell before he even knew his death was coming. His body, tumbling to the ground, startled the other orcs who scrambled around frantically, and tried to figure out what was going on. By the time they saw their foe straight ahead, their other protective archer had already fallen to the ground. The two shamans, one dressed in primitive brown robes, the other in a loin cloth began to dance softly, swerving back and forth gently, their hands upraised. A globe of yellow magic energy gathered above their palms as they chanted, summoning forth a harmful spell. Their chants were interrupted however, one after the other, as an axe flew straight into their chests. The energy
fizzled, and at quickly vanished, as their bodies fell limp upon the ground. In
panic the three fighters ran for Gorluck, axes in hand. With a mighty swing
Gorluck cut the first two down in front, the first one fell quickly, only grunting before he fell. The other flew sideways, landing with a short-lived cry of pain. The third, sharper than the others, stopped short his charge. The blade missed his chest by just an inch. It seemed he’d stopped in time. Another swing he ducked and launched his own. Sparks flew and metal clanged as the massive blades collided, but Gorluck’s strength was greater, and his movements quicker.
He swung the other axe full-circle, and knocked it from the other’s hands. Ever determined the orc did not stop, he pulled out his dagger and lunged for Gorluck, but to no surprise he fell before his feet could take him close. The blade slammed into rusty armor and sent the orc flying back. He gasped for air, wind knocked loose, but stood again. Charging forward he slammed into Gorluck’s
chest headfirst. Gorluck, on his back still gripped the axe more tightly than before. He knocked the hilt of the handle into the other’s head and sent him tumbling. He was on his feet before the other could even leave his hands and knees. Dizzy and confused the orc stood slowly, staggering drunkenly to his feet. The blade of the axe showed no mercy this time. Slamming into the dazed
orc’s chest, it knocked him over and took what life was left.
Upon entering the cave Gorluck made short work of the many scattered orcs in similar fashion. Orcs armed with axes and broadswords charged at him at once, only to be knocked aside by the might of
Gorluck’s axe. Gorluck ran and swung his axe faster than the archers could shoot their arrows, only to turn their backs in panic when he was close enough to strike. Their feet failed to take them fast enough, however, to escape the raging warrior’s wrath. The shamans, casting fumbling and faltering spells, were the first to fall Gorluck’s blade. Vines erupted from the ground to wrap around
the orc and hold him tight, but he squirmed away and cut them down, as quickly as they had come. Fireballs and lightning bolts flew towards him but he rolled, and jumped, and dodged away as the shaman’s spells missed and hit the burst rocks instead. The cave shook and rumbled as great destruction spread. One by one the shamans fell, their spells failing, their energies fizzling, and their
lives passing before their eyes. Sweat soaked a panting Gorluck and he fell upon his knees. Too tired to fight on. At last his strength gave out, and nearly every orc in sight lied dead. Silence fell upon the dimly lit cave. For the first time Gorluck could admire the beauty of the mines. Cracks and holes in the stone veins, scattered about the caves, revealed the otherwise hidden ore. The metal shimmered in what little light could enter. Copper, iron, silver, gold, and bronze, all sat still and silent, and waiting to be mined. Most notably however, the Mithril shined and shimmered before his eyes. Shining brighter than the rest it called to Gorluck who gazed upon it, a look of awe struck his face.
He worked Mithril many times before, yet in breaking it free from rocks, melting it in a forge, and pounding on it with a hammer, its beauty hid from him. Only by beholding Mithril in its rawest form, could he now see the beauty of the metal he’d be working once again. He stood at once, a pickaxe in his hand. He left his great axe behind him for the time. Slowly, he edged closer to the vein.
“Who goes there?” A low, gruff voice startled him. He jumped and turned about at once, heart pounding from the scare.
“Gorluck Moorefiend, master blacksmith. I’ve come to collect my ore.”
“I no think so!” the gruff voice disagreed. A tall mountain of a being approached him. Muscle covered him from head to toe, and wrinkled skin still looked hard as leather. Dry and weary eyes who’d seen battle many times, stared at Gorluck from a thick bearded face. “An orc?” He spat. “An orc did all this?”
“What were you expecting a pixie?” asked the blacksmith.
“I expected a great human knight or paladin, or perhaps an elven archer, maybe a dwarf in search metals for his crafts, but it sickens me to think that an orc could do all of this…to his own kind!” he rasped.
“I have done nothing wrong!” Gorluck objected. “They attacked me, I only came to mine
some ore.”
“This is so much more fellow orc, don’t you see? Us orcs is living slaves. When we lose the Epic War the humankind gave us a wasteland for a nation, and even us who come north for better lives live as slaves for who they call king of Davainia. Well no more!”
“What are you babbling about?” Gorluck asked dully.
“Don’t you see, now that we take mine from humans, we have all metals we need to make weapons. When we make enough we raise up an army and kill all farmers, then orcs control big time food supplies for humans in Davainia.” He said. “So we got metal, we got armies, and we got food, we take over Davainia, when humans beg for mercy we kill them, and the rest of the north soon is ours. Me knows the rock trolls will join us too, once they sees what we can do against the humans
they know it’s right.”
“But Davainia is the one nation that has always been there for us the orcs, the king
just fought a war to save us!” Gorluck growled. “How could you want to destroy him?”
“One human’s actions doesn’t changes nothing!” the orc spat, walking closer to orluck. The two stood to toe to toe, and for the first time Gorluck felt small.
“They oppress us, they punish us, but soon we punish them and we have revenge!”
“But I just destroyed their armies.” Gorluck observed.
“Hmmm, yes, but many mores are coming.” Said the orc. “And me, their chief will lead them to kill the humans, and you, since you’re such good fighter can help us. And blacksmith too?” he asked. “We need just one more thing, someone who knows how to work Mithril, if we have Mithril our army be invincible.”
Gorluck scowled in disgust at the idea. “I would never help you slay innocent humans!”
“Fine!” the chieftain said stoically. “My armies come and we do it without you.”
“Your armies will have a hard time doing anything without a chief to guide them!”
Gorluck pointed out.
“What you mean?” the other asked.
Gorluck wasted no time with a spoken answer. He swung his pickaxe gracefully, aiming for the chieftain’s throat. The chief growled angrily after leaning back just in time for the thin blade to miss.
Battleaxe in hand he swung for Gorluck’s head. Gorluck ducked and swung again. He struck hard as if mining ore within the chieftain’s heart. Sparks flew as the blades clashed. With a light ring the pickaxe flew away, easily overpowered by the massive axe. Gorluck stood wide-eyed and empty-handed.
“Ha-ha-haa!” the chieftain roared. “Tiny mining axe no match for my weapon! Now you die!”
But Gorluck ducked, the massive blade flying inches above his head. And just before the axe struck again it stopped as Gorluck grabbed the handle, both hands gripped like iron frames around the wood.
“Let go and die dumb city orc!” the chieftain cursed. Gorluck’s feet slid, scraping against the stone. The other orc’s strength pushed his body slowly forward. Sweat on his brow and a tear in his eye Gorluck grunted painfully as his arms began to fail. He dared to take a hand away and the pain grew even worse. One last throwing axe remained, safely tucked within the sheath around his belt. The
sweaty palm gripped the little throwing weapon. Then Gorluck struck the chieftain’s throat.
The massive axe fell upon the ground, released from the chieftain’s failing grip. The tall and sturdy orc collapsed upon his knees, gagging. He gurgled blood as he tried to speak some curse, but
all that came was painful groans and dripping tears within his lifeless eyes.
With a resounding thud he fell at last at Gorluck’s feet.
A sad look within his eyes, Gorluck also fell upon his knees. With folded hands he bowed his head and closed his eyes. He prayed to whatever gods might be to wash his hands of all the orcish blood that stained them now. Upon finishing his prayer he stood and found his pickaxe. Contentedly, he chiseled away the stone that hid the Mithril until he filled a burlap sack with shining ore. He sighed
contentedly and peacefully strolled away.
* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *
“I hope it wasn’t too much trouble.” The paladin’s assistant stammered as he retrieved the shining sword.Gorluck glanced at the sword in all its shining beauty. He shifted his gaze towards a heavy chest of gold, his payment for the piece. He smiled and rubbed his hands together.
“No trouble at all,” he said. “It’s all in a day’s work…”
“My master will be most grateful…” the servant said as he walked away, looking slightly less nervous than he was before.
“As he should be human,” said the orc. “As you all should be..”

Bi-lingual Because you are my friend-poque tu eres mi amigo

2013-01-08T16:01:00.002-08:00

I wrote this bilingual poem for an old friend of mine, once again it's not fantasy related, but those will be coming soon. I also recently published a new short story called Guise Markets. Over the next couple days it should become available through Short Story Press as an eBook, I'll keep you posted on that. For now enjoy the poem.

AutoBiography

2012-10-16T06:52:00.001-07:00

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

2012-07-09T08:05:00.003-07:00

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

2012-07-08T04:03:00.003-07:00

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

2012-06-29T16:31:00.012-07:00

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

2012-06-28T14:20:00.004-07:00

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

2012-06-15T07:19:00.002-07:00

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

2012-05-17T06:27:00.003-07:00

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

2012-05-13T05:28:00.003-07:00

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

2012-05-07T03:23:00.002-07:00

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

2012-04-30T11:39:00.001-07:00

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

2012-04-29T05:17:00.002-07:00

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

2012-04-25T11:04:00.006-07:00

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