Waters Dark and Deep

I’ve been remiss in mentioning that the first issue of Broadswords and Blasters is now out and available for download. Among other fine stories is my tale of sword-wielding monks and devils from the deep blue sea, “The Waters So Dark”.

“The Waters So Dark” is the second adventure of Bartolomeo Corsi, former soldier, Florentine monk and monster hunter. On the eve of the Treaty of Venice, Corsi finds himself hunting down a renegade monk and coming face to face with a horror out of the deepest recesses of the sea.

For those unfamiliar with Corsi’s previous adventures, I encourage you to dig up a copy of the Monk Punk/Shadow of the Unknown Omnibus, which includes the story “Evil Fruit”. 

The first issue of Broadswords and Blasters is available as a Kindle download. I encourage you to check it out.

Saturday Self-Promotion

It’s Saturday, and I feel like selling some books. Interested in some late 19th century escapades? What about a deadly duel atop the Eiffel Tower? An attempted coup in a country teetering on the edge of revolution? Alien conspiracies? Enough literary Easter eggs to choke a rabbit?

If any of that sounds like your sort of thing, then you should check out either (or both) of the two books below.

The Other Log of Phileas Fogg was only the beginning!

Phileas Fogg and the War of Shadows

It is 1889 and Phileas Fogg has settled into a life of quiet sequestration in the rural idyll of his family estate with his wife and children. The millenia-old conflict which once threatened to consume him is over and done. Or so he thought. But when an old foe disrupts his peaceful retirement, seeking his aid against an enemy which threatens them both, Fogg  finds himself once more thrown into the white-hot crucible of war.

Now, with his loved ones under threat of death, and accompanied by the unpredictable colonel who has been described as the second most dangerous man in London, Fogg must dare the dangers of the City of Light in order to uncover the deadly secrets hidden beneath the streets of Paris. And as the wonders of the Exposition Universelle unfold around him and the air quivers with the impossible reverberation of nine great clangings, Fogg  must plunge into the shadowed depths of the Parisian catacombs on the trail of his phantom enemy…

Phileas Fogg and the Heart of Osra

1889. The war of shadows is over, but a new and more deadly conflict has begun in the Central European country of Ruritania. A conflict which threatens to consume the few remaining survivors of the millennia-old struggle between Eridaneans and Capelleans, including Phileas Fogg.

Drawn to the city of Streslau by a mysterious letter, Fogg finds himself accused of a crime he didn’t commit and caught between old allies and new enemies in a struggle for survival. On the run and aided only by the unpredictable Count of Hentzau, Fogg must exert every iota of his famed intellect in order to unravel the mystery of the Heart of Osra – or face the utter annihilation of Eridaneans and Capelleans alike!

Drums of the Tzaanwar

Strange trilling calls echoed through the fenlands. Lean forms, clad in jade and gold, splashed swiftly through the dark waters. The scent of death-magic was strong on the night wind, even as the Unseen had promised. The mortal had offered his Tzaangor allies first pickings – if they could break through the dead, now massing at the ruined watchtower known as the Wickenmotte. A test of their loyalties and strength, both. 

Tzekmek, Great Changer of the Barrowflock, had accepted that challenge, and gladly. There was strong magic in those ruins, and with it, he might raise a flux-cairn capable of warping the turgid landscape of the Ghost Bat Bog into something more pleasing to Tzeentch’s gaze. 

He hissed in anticipation of the feast to come as he crouched low on the pulsating Disc of Tzeentch he rode. He sped just above the marsh’s tangled canopy, followed by his bodyguard of chattering Enlightened. The babbling warriors hunched atop their own discs, a fug of broken memories swirling about them. Nearby, ever-silent Skyfires kept pace, their keen gazes sweeping the murk below, arrows ready to be loosed should the enemy show themselves. 

Beneath the trees, lesser Tzaangors loped through the gloom, screeching eagerly. They too could smell the dead, and the magic that animated them. And soon enough, that magic would belong to the changekin… (more…)

Zibaldone #17: Low Houses

It’s been a good while since I’ve done one of these. Figured I might as well start back up with another scrap of free writing from my commonplace book. Like the previous two, it’s based on a thing I heard about as a kid, and was written as a warm up for something better. This one was written in…2014? 2015? Something like that. Enjoy, or not, as it pleases you. (more…)

Skeins of Fate

A blade swept out, shattering an unfortunate tree to splinters. The length of crude iron had been etched with ruinous sigils, and wept flux-fire from its jagged edge. Where it passed, the air was rent by the sounds of discordant piping and the screams of beasts. To the one who held it, such a clamouring was as the most subtle of compositions, and to those who followed him, it was as if all the spirits of earth and air were urging them onward. 

Flux-fires gleamed in the dark of the Ghost Bat Bog as the being known as the Relevator led his brothers and sisters in the Cockatrice Conclave to war. The creature once known as Calaspa Bo lumbered between the crooked trees, smashing aside any that rose in his path. Somewhere in the dark before him, the restless dead waited in silent defiance of the hounds of fate. The Relevator went to teach them the folly of such resistance. 

Once possessed of a mind of infinite convolutions, Bo was now as single-minded as the foes he splashed towards so relentlessly. The great, coiling feathered worm-shape clinging to the Curseling hissed soft encouragement, directing him ever-forward. The daemon-thing whispered to the Relevator of secrets to be revealed, and knowledge to consumed, once the sunken mansions of the ancient fen-kingdoms were theirs to plunder. 

Unfortunately, the dead had other ideas… (more…)