My new book, Hounds of Ruin, released today!
It’s book 10 in my Kingdom’s Disdain series; a story about a lost traveler doing his best to survive on the deadly continent of Laskmeer, making friends and enemies and trying to find purpose.
This is a big one for me. Each of the four main characters has their own personal arc that I’m really proud of, and we get to see them all working together as a team for the first time. This is my favorite in the series so far. Book 11 will have a lot to live up to.
Anyway, if you like quirky fantasy with a bit of humor and maybe a touch of horror, I would like to recommend myself to you. The first book, Web of Bones, can be found here. The newest volume, Hounds of Ruin, can be bought here.
Here’s an excerpt from the first chapter!
INTO THE MIDLANDS
-Cardinal
Trog swung out of the way and lashed out with her axe like a woodsman cutting trees, and the harrow-slurker missed her head by less than a foot.
Here’s how I’ll describe this monstrosity: you’ve got three slinkies, right? But they’re self-extending, and twenty feet long, and they have mouths on them. They’re orange and purple, striped. These are the harrow slurker’s three necks. All of them are attached to the body, which is kind of like a green puddle of goo. I guess in that sense it’s a tiny bit like a slug, but less solid. It’s gigantic, and it drinks human bodily fluids, so, not really like a slug at all, actually. More like a nightmare. I did not enjoy looking at it, and I did not want to get anywhere near it.
Fortunately, I didn’t have to get near it. We had Sareash and my new best friend Trog for that. They were the frontline, and I was a caster, along with Edreimlecheth, who was not exactly my best friend, but wasn’t my enemy either (I think).
“Once they step away, you’ll cast gravity-bomb,” the half-elf said, standing about three claw away from me (I measure things in claw now). He’d discarded the black cape outfit he used to wear when he was hunting us. He wore dark green now, and he was covered in a sort of drape/cloak made up of dark-green scales which we’d harvested from a rashunk, which was a kind of hooded snake the size of a bus. Everyone but me had new clothes and a new look. I looked pretty much the same.
Edreimlecheth had a small black mask that covered his eyes and nose, like an old superhero, with a silver gem at the forehead that was supposed to focus his arcane power (got that from an old abandoned dwarven mine near the mountain. We’d played rock-paper scissors for it. I had to teach him the game, but once I did he was surprisingly good at it. Sus if you ask me). His hair was shorter too, shaggy and orange, falling halfway down his neck. He’d cut his shaggy locks off about halfway through our journey, because they kept getting tangled in bushes and things. He was a handsome dude, but I guess all elves are kind of like that. “Did you hear me?” he asked.
I nodded. Edreimlecheth tried to call the shots a lot, since he was more experienced by like a hundred years. Sometimes I ignored him on purpose. Sometimes I argued with him, but he argued more and worse, so I didn’t usually like doing that, especially when our frontline fighters were at risk.
“Copy,” I said.
He glowered.
“That means yes. I heard you,” I clarified.
“Good,” he said. “Try to answer faster next time.”
Whatever dude.
“Right! Three steps!” I heard Trog bark out. She snorted and spun her axe.
Trog was fighting the beast up close. The orc warrior jetted from one leg to another and pounced at the monster’s right side, drawing the attention of its right-most slinky head. She was a blur of green and gray, dressed as she was in leather and wolf-pelt. She preferred to be less encumbered by things like armor. “If a beast from the midlands nabs me, I’m squash anyway,” I remembered her saying when we brought up the idea of armor. Most of the group had taken on this philosophy after her. Edreimlecheth was probably the most heavily armored among us.
Although Edreimlecheth had her beat in years, Trog had a lot more experience at fighting beasts specifically. We were really lucky to have her with us. It was amazing what one person could do with nothing but an axe made of bones and a head full of experience. The orc woman used to seem so frustrated and angry when we knew her in the barrak. It seemed like getting out in the world agreed with her.
“Ever fought a slurk?” she had asked us all this morning at breakfast.
“No. Can’t say I have,” Sareash answered. She looked to me and I shook my head.
“Well, we should find one,” she rasped. “It’ll be a good experience, and a lot of fun.”
That’s how we ended up where we were, fighting this abomination. It was a strange idea of fun, but then again, orcs will be orcs.
“Spores!” Trog shouted at the top of her lungs. “Spores!” she repeated, making sure that Sareash could hear.
Trog and Sareash both leaped backwards, making as much distance between themselves and the slurker as possible. Trog was fast and quick, but Princess Sareash jumped like she was in Crouching Tiger Hidden Dragon, clearing five whole claw in a single bound and landing on a nearby grassy hill.
Sareash.
She’d really come into her own at the barrak, and, though she suffered some survivor’s guilt after the terrible slaughter of the Night-Star, she was on the comeback. Today she was wearing a two-piece leather outfit, barring her softly toned midsection. Leather, fit to the shape of her chest, guarded her heart, and she wore a skirt made of netting and leather strands that went to about the knees. She wore black boots and grayish stockings on her legs. Her smooth, tan arms were bare, and her silky black hair was tied in one long braid that fluttered in the air like an animal’s tail. In her hands, she held Valsrofen, the magic god sword. It was a long, thick, double-bladed weapon that looked obscenely heavy. The sword had a big blue orb on it. I don’t know what the orb was for, but it looked really important and magical.
She was like a real fantasy hero, clutching her legendary blade in her hands like it wasn’t as heavy as an anvil. She was ready to smite the hell out of that beast. She was confident and beautiful, and I was happy for her. Even though the two of us hadn’t had a one on one conversation in about two weeks, I decided that was fine, and I was happy for her.
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