My newest novel, Hallowed Knights: Plague Garden, is up for pre-order on both the Black Library site and various international distributors, and I thought I’d take a moment to talk a bit about it. (more…)
Just a quick note here to mention that I’ll be attending Warhammer Fest this year, along with authors Paul Kearney, Guy Haley, John French, Chris Wraight and Dan Abnett. There’ll be seminars as well as signings, so feel free to come by and say hello, if you’re there and of a mind.
For more information about Warhammer Fest 2017, visit the Warhammer World site.
Dark Regions Press has released the cover and table of contents for their forthcoming anthology, Arkham Detective Agency, a Lovecraftian-noir tribute to the late C.J. Henderson. I’m proud to say that I have a story in the book, alongside authors such as Konstantine Paradias, Sam Gafford and Glynn Owen Barrass. (more…)
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…)
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…)
War. The drumbeat of war sounded throughout the Mortal Realms. In Ghur, armies mustered in the wild places, as the great powers sought to claim dominion over uncertain ground. And amongst the most uncertain was the Great Fenland of Chiropteros – better known to its inhabitants as the Ghost Bat Bog.
These fenlands are an ever-shifting sump of thick grasses and bald patches of rough, muddy ground, dotted with the broken remnants of a hundred forgotten marsh-kingdoms. Trees rise wild among the peatlands, growing strong on a charnel feast served over centuries. The dead still walk within sunken mansions in the Ghost Bat Bog, and strange, cyclopean shapes prowl the misty marshes, preying on the degenerate descendants of the old kingdoms.
It is among these savage marsh-folk that the Unseen first came, as the skies grew black with the war storm. He – or she, for none knew who or what they were, beneath their golden helm and dark robes – spoke cryptic truths, and drew the marsh-folk out of hiding, helping them to recall the ancient arts they had long forgotten – or perhaps never known in the first place… (more…)