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The Who’s Who on Shade 2—Part One

Thanks everyone for the positive feedback on the cover of Shade 2: Kingsblood! We are very excited to be following up with the second installment of the Shade Series. Last week we simply pulled back the curtain and unveiled the cover. This week we thought we’d run a magnifying glass over the cover and give you the who’s who on Shade 2: Kingsblood.

We’ll start with the most out of place character on the cover: Jago.

Jago is a Dragol or a rat-man as they are sometimes called. Dragols are a cross-breed of unknown racial origins, just called rat-men for their humanoid appearance. Dragols are known for being one of Covent’s uglier races and have an insatiable appetite for garbage.  Hunted down for years, Dragols have proved to be extreme survivors and are slowly gaining a loose acceptance in Doljinaar.

Jago is from Jile, Shade’s town. He’s an orphan taken in by the kindhearted owner of The Pig’s Trough eat house in Jile.  He works as a dish boy, but has a mischievous streak for troublemaking and picking Starlilies from the Ice Marshes to sell to drug-dealers. Dragols are extremely agile and stealthy and his skills enable him to become an unwanted tagalong in Shade 2.

We were very happy with this concept picture, though we asked that the artist reshape the skull a bit to make it look more ratlike than catlike.  As you can see Thom Scott happily obliged.

Now we’ll move onto Aagren, captain of the Majesterium.
Aaagren is a Haradrik by blood, a clan of ice Vikings who live off the southern coasts of Doljinaar which lies on the shores of the arctic ocean known as the Haraglace. Haradrik are divided into two camps: Loyalists and Icefarers. Icefarers are known for rebellion and their stubborn wills in their efforts to sail south and colonize the frozen southern continent. They are trying to make a new country of their own, but most families don’t survive the harsh winters.  Loyalists have accepted life under Doljinaarian rule.  Aaagren is a Loyalist.

Aaagren is captain of the Majesterium, which is the royal guard of the king. He never leaves the king’s side.  Aaagren carries a two-handed battleaxe in one hand and a tower shield in the other. In this scene Aaagen has lost his axe, the wounded king leans on his shoulder and he waves his shield in a desperate last ditch effort to save the king.

Finally, let’s finish up with King Magnus…King Magnus is close to 1,000 years old. Unlike mere common humans, the eyes of the royal line of Doljinaar glow a solid white. The combination of their abnormally long lifespan and their ethereal gaze feed the perception that they are in fact gods in flesh. It is believed that the Doljinn kings ascend into godhood at death. The most memorable kings are worshiped as gods, as either a deity who stands for good or for evil, depending on the manner of their rule.

King Magnus has been a fair and wise king. He has had a long and hard rule. He has managed to keep a relative peace in Doljinaar, unlike many of the past Doljinn kings. He will be remembered well, but has been forced to spend much time on the battlefronts, stemming the tide of threats from entering the kingdom. His most controversial decision was the abolishment of magic, but there are many in Doljinaar who supported the bold decree. Doljinaarian history is filled with devastating magic wars that left entire towns leveled and left wounds upon the lands that have never fully healed. Magic is greatly feared.

Stay tuned for next week, when he dive into the other characters on the cover including the Shaltearan Brotherhood and Shade’s cocky nemesis in Shade 2: Kingsblood.

Need to get caught up on reading?  You can always start with Shade 1: Waiting Game:
http://www.chroniclesofcovent.com/shade.html

 

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Shade 2 Book Cover Reveal…

Greetings blog readers! Sorry I haven’t had a lot of time to blog lately. I’ve been traveling far and wide, but to make it up to you I’ve got some very exciting artwork to reveal. Our artist, Thom Scott, has been hard at work on the artwork for the cover to Shade 2: Kingsblood! Shade 2 reveals a cast of reoccurring characters both to the Shade Series and the larger Chronicles of Covent brand itself.

I’m very excited about the release of Shade 2, even more so than Shade 1 because the book takes our anti-hero to new levels of story-telling. Shade finally finds the trial he is looking for, but he is forced to play the unlikely role of hero. This allowed us to explore new dimensions of his character that just weren’t possible in Shade 1, which was aimed at merely establishing our cold confident killer.

And so without further ado, allow me to reveal the cover to Shade 2!

I won’t say too much this week about the story and its characters, but look for a more in depth blog next week that dives into far more detail. To whet your appetites, let me entice you with the book description and the FULL COLOR COVER WRAP down below that shows TWICE the scene!

Doljinaar.  City of Kings. A contract has been signed in the shadows of the great capital, soon to be sealed in the blood of kings. The Shaltearan Brotherhood moves to make good on this contract. It has unleashed its largest force of elite assassins in history.

Shade is sent to foil the assassination and waylay the conspirators behind the plot, but to do so he must venture deep into the bustling heart of Capital Doljinaar. A city the size of ten bustling metropolises walled together side by side. Thousands of eyes lurk at every corner, none trusting of Dark Elves.

Shade must take the deepest, darkest roads to reach the palace secretly and when he finally reaches the palace he must face off against the Shaltearan elite in an ultimate showdown. Among their number awaits a worthy adversary who has been dying to meet him. A ghost who moves silently among men…

 

Shade 2 will be out late this year or early next year (I told my loving wife I wouldn’t release our next book so close to Christmas again). Watch our website and the blog for more announcements and updates. We will be updating the Chronicles of Covent homepage with new artwork, new character, creatures and place reveals over the next 6 months. It’s going to be a very exciting time for the Chronicles of Covent!
http://www.chroniclesofcovent.com/shade2.html

Comments and feedback on the cover are welcome on the blog or by emailing me direct at jlficks@chroniclesofcovent.com.  We still have plenty of time to tweak the cover this time around, so any constructive feedback would be much appreciated!


 

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When the Dead Won’t Stay Dead…

Some people have been asking what does Shade fear? Given that he is the world’s most legendary assassin, he seems at many times capable of overcoming anything in Shade One. However, he is not above fear. In the scene above, a black and white illustration included in Chapter Four, we see Shade knocked on his rump. The scene paints a stark contrast to his ordinarily cocky self. A towering undead Minotaur raises his mallet over him. The Minotaur stands close to ten feet tall. Its nostrils spew shoots of steam as it charges trampling everything in its path, an untiring mass of steaming rage. Shade is surrounded by undead, hopelessly cut off and alone. The undead stagger closer, salivating mouths hungering for the taste of his warm flesh.

Shade’s passage through the Ruins of Garrlohan in Shade One is actually one of the most telling chapters of the entire book about Shade’s deepest, darkest fears He fears the mysterious otherworldly forces of Covent. He fears powers beyond his understanding or more so he fears powers that befuddle his comprehension and render him powerless. You see Shade is a practically minded Dark Elf. His thinking is very grounded in the natural world. As he said to the Shamite in Chapter One of Shade Two, “Slide an acute piece of metal into a vital organ and the victim will die quick and without much fuss.” The assassin makes a living sending people to grave and so to see undead crawling back from the grave is a grim reversal of the natural order of things. Shade believes in no god, but here dozens of death’s horrible heralds speak of a supernatural world beyond his understanding and that deep down scares him more than anything.

Worse, the way to kill undead is largely unknown at this time in Covent. There are no magical blades, no holy weapons to put them down. Clerics, and those who profess the silver robes, have lost the art of healing. All a mortal can do is run. Shade is forced to cripple them in the Ruins of Garllohan, but even then he barely escapes with his life. The physical bodies of zombies, ghouls, skeletons or various other undead can be maimed by physical blows, but you will never kill their restless spirits. You cut off their legs and they’ll crawl after you. You cut off their hands and the fingers will crawl after you. You cut off their heads and the headless body will still stalk you. You crush their bones into powder and they’ll body jump into a fresh corpse reanimating new nightmares. And if they have no physical body, what are you supposed to do with the likes of a ghost, but run?

I’m particularly excited about some of our new twisted forms of undead, the first of which we shall introduce in Shade Two. There is one such entity Shade fears in all the Ice Marshes…the Ooelm. The Ooelm, pronounced just like Doelm, but without the “d” is an undead monster that defies Shade’s understanding. The Ooelm wanders the south marshes feasting on the brains of any living creature unfortunate enough to fall into its hands. The Ooelm is one of the many abominations of ancient Gorgloth who wander the lands feeding off their restless hunger. Many saw these abominations are worse than undead, because they come out of their haunts and ruins of Covent. They are drawn to dark places of historic tragedy and magic, but have even been known to wander into towns.

You can think of the Ooelm has a monstrous hunchbacked Frankenstein, though its spirit remains a mystery. Its body has been warped and twisted, which can barely contain the monstrous spirit that has crawled up inside a once withering corpse. Shade can sense this spirit behind the Ooelm’s massive warped form, but he is unsure what to make of it. The Ooelm’s mind is numb, greatly dumbed down, as if its unending hunger has also consumed a far greater identity. Its mind has been reduced to an animalistic instinct to feed, rivaling that of any other undead, but its powers are frightening to behold.

I’ve included an excerpt from Shade Two for the blog, which includes the second half of Chapter Three of Shade Two. Shade has headed south through the Ice Marshes on his way to Doljinaar, City of Kings. Given he has to foil another assassination attempt, he has chanced the Mudline to save time. The Mudline is an old lost road that had been, up until now, swallowed by the watery southern swamps. The waters had appeared low on Shade’s departure, but he has been trapped in a floodplain close to the Ruins of Azranool. He is being stalked…


An Excerpt from Chapter Three:
Never Trust the Mudline

A horrible horselike squeal pierced the air.

Shade snapped back around. And then he saw it. An all too familiar monstrous form towered over the rise where he had left his horse.

Shade held his breath. His horse squirmed and flailed wildly like a small rodent in the monster’s oafish hands. The Ooelm. The fat twenty-foot monster stared back at him with solid black eyeballs. It seemed to remember him. He could see the huge tree-sized club it dragged behind by its nearly useless left arm. The Ooelm stared at the Dark Elf with a festering hatred. Shade had severed several exposed ligaments on the monster’s left arm on their last chance encounter. He had rendered that arm useless though he could see that the monster still managed to grip its club.

The Ooelm shrugged its huge shoulder and swung its dead arm around its body. The club hit the ground with a devastating force.

The earth shook.

The Ooelm seemed to have waited for the moment Shade turned around. The monster stared at him and lifted his once proud steed up to its flabby black lips. It roared, a noxious green mist sprayed the air. The horse winnowed in terror, its legs flailing wildly. The animal eyed the Ooelm’s immense wriggling maw as its jaws opened. The horses took one blast of the ghoulish breath and went suddenly limp.

“NO!” Shade shouted. He sprinted forward in a vain attempt to save his horse. He would be stranded without it and the Ooelm could surely run him down.

The Ooelm moved slowly, as if baiting the Dark Elf.

The horse’s head hung limply as the monster slowly lowered it into its huge writhing pallet.

Shade cursed and headed back up the rise. He drew his blades, but his mind leafed through a list of reckless battle plans, all of which spelled suicide. His breaths puffed out in desperate huffs. He could smell the Ooelm’s putrefying stench as he drew near. He could feel the Ooelm’s chilling air filling his veins with needlelike fear. His limbs iced over and his body trembled uncontrollably. His joints stiffened and he was suddenly paralyzed with dread. He stared up and up at his towering foe.

The Ooelm stood upright on two legs, but his entire body was covered in mud, muck and bits of dead plant matter. The twigs and dead weeds that stuck out of the layers of grime strangely resembled hair. Small patches of dead white skin showed bleakly, marred by grotesque malformed contusions and dead boils. The Ooelm resembled some manner of mutant Gorum, but it more than quadrupled their impressive size. It was a jumbled mass of bones, muscles, organs and dead tissues, like a dragon had crawled inside a Gorum corpse and wore him like a cloak.

Shade did not understand by what powers such monsters existed. The Dwarves claimed long ago that Ooelms were abominations birthed by the black arts of ancient Gorgloth. They reported having problems with Ooelms desecrating their catacombs and feeding on the brains of the dead. The name Ooelm suggested that these rumors held a grain of truth, but he had never heard of a tale of an Ooelm as large as this one.

The assassin could do nothing, but stare in wide-eyed horror.

The Ooelm’s leech black lips closed around the horse’s head. Shade heard a horrible sucking noise. The horse’s legs writhed and went suddenly limp. The animal’s limp head popped out of the Ooelm’s horrible mouth. The monster threw the horse’s body at Shade.

The assassin rolled to the side. The horse’s weighty body hit the mud and flopped like a giant dead fish. It nearly landed on him. He had to make two more evasive rolls to completely avoid the comatose projectile. He lost a dagger. The horse’s corpse finally came to a rest.

Shade rolled right into the horse’s rib cage. He hit the animal’s chest hard and stood up in horror. He stared at his mount’s lifeless face. The horse’s eyes and brains had been sucked out through its eye sockets. The assassin fell on his bottom and scrambled backward, reeling in shock and revulsion. He could see the flecks of brain matter oozing out of the horse’s snout. Worms, maggots and beetles crawled out of the animal’s lifeless head, as if swarms of saprobes had eaten his mount from the inside out into a rapid decay.

A tree-sized object rose overhead

Shade snapped out of his shock.

The Ooelm gripped its enormous dead arm and raised the club.

The assassin dove forward.

The Ooelm brought its club down.

Shade closed his eyes. He could only pray he dove far enough.

Thud!

The earth shook and mud splattered, but Shade could still feel his legs. He scrambled to his feet. He saw the Ooelm lift its giant club again. The nimble assassin darted through the monster’s fat legs. He looked desperately for a place to hide, but bogs cut him off in every direction. The only way out was through the Muckhog path and the only way back to that path lay through the Ooelm.

Shade spun around and gaped up the Ooelm’s huge knobby back.

The Ooelm started to turn around, but it was so immense it turned slowly.

The assassin retrieved another blade. He dashed towards the Ooelm and leapt at its huge calf. He drove his right dagger deep into the Ooelm’s giant muscle and held on. The stab made a shucking noise, but broke into dust as easily as a husk. Worms and maggots came spilling out of the hole in the monster’s dusty leg. Shade nearly slipped off. He jammed his left dagger in and pulled himself up. The assassin felt cold slimy wriggling bodies hit his lips. Shade turned his face to the side and spit. More worms!

The Ooelm howled in pain. It loosed a horrible sound that resembled the tortured song of a dying whale. The wretched sound, the unbearable stench caused insects and leeches to come writhing out of the mud.

Shade ground his teeth and regained his concentration. He pulled his right dagger out and thrust it into the Ooelm’s back thigh. And then his left. He scaled the monster’ spine rippled back ice pick style.

More worms and maggots poured of the Ooelm. The monster dropped its club. It yowled in rage and made grabs for the nimble assassin, but he evaded them. He nearly reached the creature’s fiendish shoulder. His eyes remained focused on his goal. The Ooelm’s dead arm hung by a signal ligament. If he could finish what he had started months back, perhaps the putrid monster would retreat.

The Ooelm flailed.

Shade’s right dagger flew from his hand. He grabbed his parrying dagger with both hands and held on for dear life. He glanced down. He dangled thirteen feet up in the air. Almost there. Just another foot.

The Ooelm made another grab for him.

He quickly pulled himself upward and grabbed a protruding bone sticking out of the monster’s dead flesh. He pulled himself up on its broad shoulder. He reached the ligament. The Ooelm tried to shake him off, but he fell to his knees to stabilize his balance. He raised his dagger up prepared to cut the arm clean off.

Shade felt gigantic fingers close around his waist. The assassin tried to slip away, but the Ooelm caught him fast in its clasp. He wanted to stab the monster, but his arms were pinned to his waist. He felt like a little ragdoll as he was pulled away from his target.

The Ooelm brought him back around its front. The monster glared at him, its horribly white skin drooped off its warped skull, giving it an expression of pure furious, freakish horror.

Shade trembled. For the first time since his youth, he had the sudden overwhelming urge to lose his bladder. He felt reduced, reduced to that once terrified boy time had widdled away.

The Ooelm raised him and stared straight into his terror-filled eyes. He stared back into those deathly black eyeballs. It was like staring into a vacant hungering abyss, devoid of soul or conscience. He felt like his spirit suddenly froze solid, but the hatred and envy in those eyes was unnerving. Lathers of drool oozed out of the Ooelm’s black lips. It dribbled down its huge sagging cheeks and oozed into pools of saliva on its hill-sized potbelly. The Ooelm brought him close to its huge horrible face. Its terrible lips parted.

Shade closed his eyes and meditated on a sacred discipline of the Kuula. A stomach-turning blast of death and decay blew back his hair. His nostrils burned, but his discipline saved him from passing out. The stench was like being sealed off in an airtight Dwarven tomb, the dead freshly rotting. He nearly lost consciousness.

The Ooelm loosened its grasp. Shade slide down, but the Ooelm caught him by the heel.

The assassin cursed himself for the missed opportunity. He opened his eyes just as he was dangled over the monster’s huge gaping maw.

The Dark Elf gaped into the untold horrors that stirred within. The Ooelm’s mouth was toothless, tongueless and yet it writhed and moved like a sea of squirming tissues. Not tissues he realized, but a wriggling bed of maggots, worms and carrion beetles. He was mere seconds away from being dropped into that horrible writhing maw which would no doubt devour him from the inside out like his poor horse.

Shade stole a glance at the monster’s weak point. The bad ligament lay eight feet away. He gripped the dagger in his hand. He had only one shot at this. He struggled to focus on his target. The blood rushed to his head as he dangled upsidedown. He felt disoriented. The world spun around in his head. He tried to focus on the one ligament that looked like three, no six.

The Ooelm dropped him.

Shade threw the dagger as he fell downward. It whisked through the air. The world spun around and around, but then he heard the ligament snap.

The Ooelm’s arm fell clean off. The monster roared. Saprobes spewed everywhere. The Ooelm leered to the side and unwittingly moved Shade.

Shade slipped from its fingers. He landed hard in the mud, but allowed his knees to absorb the impact. It took the wind out of him, but he scrambled upward. He stared up at the Ooelm who clutched its shoulder and was still roaring with a terrible unclouded rage. The assassin had no time to catch his breath. He turned and ran.

The Ooelm beat its huge fists against the mud.

Shade’s lungs screamed in protest, but he pushed on. He darted for the Muckhog path. His lungs felt sore, as if every breath dragged across his ribs, but he refused to quit. He reached the reeds and stumbled through. He could hear the Ooelm’s huge footsteps behind him.

Boom. Boom. Boom.

The assassin glanced back behind him.

The Ooelm charged after him, wielding not its club, but its severed arm. The enraged monster’s frothing spittle sprayed the air. The Ooelm was only thirty paces back, just six monstrous strides away.

He heard even more monstrous footsteps.

Boom. Boom. Boom. The ground shook.

He doubled his pace.

Shade felt the Ooelm’s scalding ice breath blow down the back of his hood. He ducked. The arm whiffed overhead just as he sighted the gully. He kept his eyes focused on the log, if he could only get across… He veered to the side on pure instinct.

The Ooelm slammed the arm down right next to him. He heard bones snap and crack, but it missed him by but hair.

Shade reached the log at last. He sprinted across it and spun around. He stared up at his awesome foe.

The Ooelm charged forward. Its huge foot stepped onto the log. Snap! The monster plunged into the gully. It hit the water with a giant splash.

Shade saw the Ooelm go under, but the muddy cliffsides were not far off the ground. The monster sprung from the water and made one last grab for him. The Ooelm was too far away. The muddy banks crumbled under its huge weight and it slipped back under. The Ooelm tried again and again, but the mud could not handle its mass. The Ooelm slid back into the water and then the waters went finally still. Shade fled down the path, a crack of a smile dawning on his cheeks. He owed those pigs a big sloppy wet kiss.

 

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Free Stuff! The Fantasy Epic Continues…

Greetings blog-readers! I’ve been traveling a lot this week, so I’ve included an excerpt from Shade 2: Kingsblood due out late 2012 or early 2013 as my blog entry this week. Our artist, Thom Scott, is hard at work on the cover as you listen to my mindless drivel! I’ve included only the first section of Chapter One in the blog entry to ensure the entry is not too long, but if you want to read the full chapter, check out the sparkling new link that contains the full sample chapter here.
Also don’t miss the Shade One free Giveaway!!!

Sorry I had to make that abundantly clear! If you haven’t already, don’t forget to enter the Waiting Game book giveaway at the Book Review Club.  Only 2 days left to enter!

So without further ado, the opening to the oddly anticipated sequel to Shade One–Kingsblood:


Chapter One:
A King Among Thieves

In the wee hours of the night, a man lay captive. His wrists and ankles had been tied to his bedposts. A shadow sat over him. The shadow’s face housed a pair of glowing yellow eyes that burned in the darkness. The two prostitutes who had tied the man up in a harmless game of lewder pleasures lay unconscious on the floor. The man was a handsome Shamite, a competent conman, a mere twenty-nine years of age. He had long curly blonde hair and a charming grin that had been the undoing of many maidens. His lips found no smile this night. He fought against his binds, but they would not budge. He opened his mouth to scream, but his tortured throat exuded nothing but an indistinct numb choking.

“Scream,” came a callous voice.

The man’s heart jumped.

“Scream,” the voice said again. The shadowy figure leaned forward from a chair beside the bed. Those piercing yellow eyes carved into the man’s soul.

The man tried to scream again, but it came out as nothing but a miserable muffled shriek. He trembled and stared at the door, eyes wild with desperation, but no one came. There was no escape. Not from the hands of this assassin. An Unseen killer whose very name had become intertwined with fear.

Shade grinned darkly at his latest victim. He leaned further in. “Your guards are right outside your door, Oisleean,” he whispered in the Shamite’s ear, “they could still save you if only they could hear you, so, scream.”

Oisleean struggled for words, for the familiar peal of sound off his tongue, but nothing came. The shadow of one of his bodyguards in the hallway shifted in the torchlight that shone from under the door. The man whimpered.

“What’s the matter, Shamite?” the Dark Elf mocked him, “Don’t you want to live? You can scream, can’t you?”

The Shamite thrashed his arms and legs, but his restraints held fast.

“Muffle Juice,” Shade said. He leaned back in his chair. He shook a half-empty vial of an amber-colored goo. “It’s a wonder back in my own dark country. Sprinkle a dash of freshly ground Mummel Flower in molasses and you have the world’s only known mute agent. It finds much use in the dungeons of Aaagdensool when our ears tire of our victims’ screams of horror.”

Oisleean yanked so hard at his binds he burned his wrists.

Shade watched him and chucked softly. His victim had not come to terms with the hopelessness of his situation. He supposed he could not blame the man. After all, few men understood the many secrets of Jui-Sae. Muffle Juice caused aphonia—a bilateral disruption of the recurrent laryngeal nerve, which supplies nearly all the muscles to the larynx. In layman’s terms, it strips the voice box of all sensation and motor function. Of course, he would not bore his victim with some dry old scientific explanation. The inability to call for help in the company of one’s executioner was terrifying enough.

“You really should hire better help, Oisleean,” Shade mused, “one of these days someone dangerous might come looking for you.”

Oisleean whimpered at the cold hard door.

“Oh don’t feel so bad,” he patted the man’s chest. He tucked the vial away and retrieved a dagger.

Oisleean watched in arrested horror as the assassin played the blade over his fingers. The razor edge flashed in the darkness reflecting off the moonlight that poured in through the window. The Shamite gasped.

“You see, I’m not usually so sophisticated in my methods of execution. Slide an acute piece of metal into a vital organ and the victim will die quick and without much fuss,” he continued as he rubbed the razor sharp edge against his thumb, “crude, but effective. Assassins have neither the time nor the creative vision to entertain so elaborate deaths as, say, your common serial killer.”

The man stared vacantly at Shade.

Shade leaned forward in the chair. He traced the tip of the blade across the man’s smooth features. The Shamite shook even more violently. The Dark Elf’s voice died to a hiss, “But I’m afraid your lifestyle has made it personal.” The assassin flicked the blade drawing a trickle a blood from the man’s cheek.

Oisleean breathed out a short hoarse soundless scream. He kicked and yanked at his binds, but he could not escape. He wept hot desperate tears.

Shade stood up and casually paced the room. “You see my father was quite an accomplished thief,” he said softly, but his voice had not lost its hard edge, “he acquired a mass of wealth before he died, just as you. He grew rich robbing the helpless, the blind, the foolish,” he paused and turned around, his glowing eyes ablaze with anger, “he too preyed on weak-willed women and fathered many orphans. He too surrounded himself with thugs and filled his bed with whores, but in the end nothing could save him.”

The Shamite blubbered like a pathetic wretch.

The assassin stopped and leaned over the bed. He brought the blade to the Shamite’s neck to ensure he kept the man’s rapt attention. “Do you know the difference between me and you, Oisleean?”

Oisleean flailed and kicked desperately at his restraints.

“I no longer prey on the weak,” Shade whispered in the man’s ear, “I have evolved, moved onto larger, more worthy prey. I am now the hunter of hunters, the killer of killers—the very top of the food chain.”

The Shamite shut his eyes tight. He held his breath and prepared himself for the killing blow. Two tears squeezed from his eyelids.

Shade traced the tip of the blade down the man’s neck and across his chest. He paused at the man’s ribs. “Arctavian sends his regards.”

The man shuddered and gasped.

“Tisk, tisk, Oisleean,” Shade whispered in the Shamite’s ear, “you could have gotten away it. A young naïve lovesick daughter. An only child. A perfect target. You could have swindled her out of her father’s inheritance, and left, moved onto to the next town, like you always do, but that wasn’t enough for you. Not this time. Instead, you had to murder her and dump her out on the streets like a common whore.”

The Shamite trembled with violent sobs.

Shade turned the blade suddenly. He drove it deep into the man’s spleen.

Oisleean’s eyes shot wide open. He opened his mouth and cried out in voiceless pain. He managed a faint indistinct scream, barely a whisper.

The assassin yanked the blade out. The Shamite would bleed out in a matter of minutes. The Dark Elf retrieved a long rolled up cloth from the back of his belt-pouches. He quickly unwrapped the cloth revealing a black rose native to his homeland. He laid the rose on the Shamite’s chest and closed the man’s fingers around the stem.

Oisleean shook violently as his life slipped away.

The Faelin turned his back in remorseless indifference. “Consider it his bride price,” Shade said coldly. He walked over to the window. He climbed up onto the windowsill and disappeared. Just then a bloodcurdling scream rang out loud and clear from the bedroom cutting deeply into the night. Shouts of alarm sounded as Oisleean’s bodyguards barged into the bedchamber. The Dark Elf grinned darkly. It appeared the Muffle Juice had finally lost its effect…

To finish the full chapter one excerpt of Kingsblood, click HERE!

 

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A Troll in the Kissing Booth…

That’s right! Line up ladies and try not to push in line! We’ve got a surprisingly winsome Troll in the kissing booth this week and he’s very, very rich…

So pucker up ladies…he’s got very nice, eh um, teeth? That’s it! One flash of those pearly whites is enough to bedazzle you! The Sewer King did not win his throne without showing off a bit of flash and flare. In fact, he can be quite charming once you get past his initial Trollish features. He’s the world of fantasy’s very first charismatic Troll. What does that even look like? Well, the Chronicles of Covent® would tell you it looks like Warlord Lewd.

Don’t let his name fool you! He has the most disarming smile and he really does have a perfect set of white teeth. If you were to sit down with him to discuss let’s say a hostile criminal takeover, you would initially cringe at your choice of a dinner party guest. But then you would admire his courtly bow and his well-mannered polish to which you would drop your jaw in amazement. After you picked your jaw up off the floor, he’d flash his perfect white teeth at you. You would catch the alarming brightness in the reflected torchlight and you’d undoubtedly flinch. You’d flinch because Lewd’s winning grin should compliment the face of a handsome prince, certainly not a hideous Troll. His wit and charm would befuddle you through the rest of the meal and by the end you would swear your allegiance. You would make sure he didn’t leave without a handsome tribute and the choicest of your subjects.

It appears all the ladies who originally fled are flocking back to the kissing booth. Again ladies, it’s not polite to push and shove in line!

Now before any maiden gets too carried away with the hopes and fantasies of marriage, I have to warn you about Lewd’s Palace. His kingdom is, well, a sewer. It may have a slight odor. Kurn is actually a very nice city on the streets above, well in the rich parts anyway. But as queen, you’d have to settle for living UNDER the nice parts. Lewd would certainly fashion you a throne and maybe a splash of red to go with his purple tapestries and royal runner. Although as soon as the décor was rolled out, it might make you sad since the mold and filth of the sewers is quite thick. That said you could always enjoy a leisurely stroll in the underground Black Markets, which are thriving with dark, monstrous races and other villainy (just bring a lot of bodyguards).

Warlord Lewd rose to power through a mixture of force and diplomacy.  He was a Trollborn child in the Kurn sewers when a Doelm fell in love with a human woman. Trollbreeds are ordinarily butchered at birth, since it is said a human and Doelm half-breed yield the most hideous race imaginable. The couple tried to flee the Kurn sewers immediately following the birth to protect the child. Lewd’s father was butchered trying to stop other Doelms from slaying his son.  Lewd’s mother hid with him until he was eleven years old in Karus Forest.  She sacrificed herself as a band of human cutthroats also tried to butcher the Trollborn child.

Lewd wandered the forest alone and learned to trust his wits to survive.  He befriended Kishrub and Zulbash who protected him, as he had a keen mind by which he kept them well fed.  He eventually led his own camp of forest brigands.  He earned the title of warlord in a Thieves War that united all the competing factions of Karus Forest. Lewd used this force to seize control of the real crown jewel of the underworld—the Kurn sewers.

The Kurn sewers had been divided by centuries of power struggles prior to Lewd’s rule. The Minolord, Tantarus, had a very shaky reign in which the wrath of the Minolord spawned an endless series of mob wars. Lewd eventually slew Tantarus with his dagger after Kishrub and Zulbash held the Minotaur down. Tantarus’ head and those of the other warring crimelords have been stuffed and mounted above Lewd’s throne. He thinks they look quite nice.

Gents, watch your step around the Sewer King. He warms up to a bit of well-buttered flattery, but watch what you say behind his back. Lewd has ears everywhere in the Kurn Sewers. You don’t want to wind up with your head stuffed and mounted above his throne or have Lewd’s Hand, which is his hand-picked assassin, make off with your tongue. Worse yet, you could be thrown into the Sharkgates. There is no way out of those gated off seaside corridors. Lewd has a shatter-proof viewing window in which he enjoys watching these amphibious monsters rip malcontents limb from limb. Nothing like a pack of Sharlak fishing you INTO the water by catching you with one of his roped spears and those rows of nasty teeth are quite hungry to tear you apart!Ladies and gents, you have but two lessons to learn to survive in the Kurn sewers!

1) Malcontent = chum chum
2) Kissy Troll = yum yum

Now enjoy another killer interior black and white illustration of Lewd’s throne room from Waiting Game. And this is how you lay the flattery on extra thick, ladies and gents!

“What a handsome smile you have, Warlord Lewd! What lovely décor you have! What smarmy flatterers you have! What fine wine and serving wenches you have! What bandaged brutes you have…my my how greatly Shade handed their butts to them, oh lowly Sewer King! Oh dear, now I have to run…”

For more do’s and don’ts on Lewd’s Syndicate and other factions go here:
www.chroniclesofcovent.com/factions.html

 

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To Orc or Not to Orc…

In ancient Gorgloth, Doelms war amongst the scorched ruins of their lost civilization. The crumbled remains of black nightstone buildings rise above the fields of bone and barren fields stained with centuries of old blood. The rivers run dry. The trees wither and die. The black ships have been long since broken on the shores. The Doelms squabble among the rocks for the fast dwindling resources and lost treasures of their ransacked kingdom. The chieftains led them to raid and pillage one another. Their axes grow red with the blood of their own people. The Doelms have tumbled so far back into the tribal eras the mere rumor of their once great society seems only a myth.
To Orc or not to Orc was a question my co-author and I struggled with for years. Originally, we began with Doelms, as you can see from the first picture below.  The first sketch was first penciled by J. E. back in high school in the mid 90s. Our initial vision was a steroid pumped muscle-head of an Orc that rose far above the squat representations found in Middle Earth or Heroquest. The muscle was piled on extra top heavy, their legs seemed like they could hardly support such a freakish mass. They were actually monstrously huge versions of Orcs bred by darker forbidden magic, except we called them Doelms.

The second picture was drawn a few years later when we were thinking about just calling them Orcs. At that time they were more simple traditional fantasy caricatures, your basic ugly evil race to counter your more comely Humans, Dwarves and Elves. However, they were more apish; prone to beating their chests and taking massive leaps like territorial bull gorillas. And then as we tweaked and over-perfected our world, vision after vision of Orcs flooded the market from World of Warcraft, Elder Scrolls and Everquest, not to mention books. Orcs appeared in commerce in every size and shape. We kept going back to the drawing board, trying to make our vision unique.

Ultimately, we felt the traditional vision of an Orc was very one-dimensional, even if you disguised it as a Trolloc or whatever. We didn’t want to follow the fantasy norm of having good and evil races. It seems if you’re born twisted, ugly or scary in a fantasy world you’re doomed to do nothing, but rape and pillage. However, if you happened to be pretty and run around with a fanciful gay smile, you could do no wrong. Nature is full of many fierce, but beautiful predators—the lion, the bear to name a few. Why should fantasy races be any different? And people are far more interesting when they’re not what they seem.  I love the horrible fair-faced monsters of Game of Thrones. And so we wanted Covent’s peoples to have the appearance of your standard races, but at times break away from the norm by showing the good in the darker peoples and the evil in the lighter peoples.  You’ll see what I’m talking about in Shade 3.

At this point we had decided not to Orc.
Now I’m always going to love Orcs and props go to Tolkien for the original vision, but we wanted to do something that had the potential for both good and evil, something darkly beautiful. The Orcs of Middle Earth were WAY too ugly and wholly evil for us. We wanted something you could both fear and admire, like a roaring bear raised up on its haunches. At the same time this deadly beauty is fallen, so Doelms became self-mutilators with long black fingernails. Doelms score their skin with claw marks which they wear like war paint to display their frightening toughness and ferocity. There’s nothing like a savage mortal digging his claws into his chest to let you know how fast he’s going to rip you apart.

Our artist put together an awesome concept sketch on the left side below. The Doelm’s tattered and ripped clothing are one of my favorite features. The worn shorts look like something a member of a once civil society once wore, like a pair of frayed jeans in a post-apocalyptic world. We also added a patch of fur on their backs and hair that ran down their shoulders to their hands. This brought them back to their apish dark humanoid roots. We thought it was a nice touch, but the real answer came in our Doelm women.

Please ignore the face under the red “X”, I think our artist was trying to conceptualize a Doelmess and this face looked far too human, but his next move was a stroke of genius. A Doelm’s deadly beauty is most heavily personified in a graceful Doelmess. We thought it would be interesting if Doelmesses were surprisingly beautiful. The challenge came in trying to design a Doelm that was terrifying in battle, but balanced out by a shockingly attractive counterpart. In this key features were multi-fold. The glowing yellow eyes of a Doelm, which look frightening at night for instance, look exotic on a Doelmess, accentuating her dark and alluring mystique.

Now this Doelmess is far more scantily clad than you’d ever see one in Doelmish society. If you were to catch even a glimpse of a Doelmess a Doelm would rip your heart out and shout, “You soiled her!” You see Doelms revere the beauty of their women and are very overprotective. Doelmesses are covered from head to toe and wear hoods over their faces to completely conceal their secret beauty. Doelms do this to keep their surprising appeal secret from other races. Only a Doelm husband may remove the robes and enjoy his wife in private.

For the most part Doelmesses are treated with dignity and are held in high honor. The savage heart of a Doelm melts over the beauty of a Doelmess, so Doelms treat their wives better than humans do.  A Doelm caught beating his wife is taken out and beaten publically by the tribe. Doelm warriors take multiple wives as trophies, but every wife is still treated with respect. Doelmesses see polygamy as a method of breeding a bigger, stronger tribe. They are considered warriors of the home. Childrearing, homemaking, gathering, crafting, making remedies and medicines are well respected and highly valued skills. Don’t ever suggest these are lowly roles to a Doelmess or she’s likely to kill you for the insult.

A Doelmess is looked upon as a “Shaka” or Life-Giver, which is a highly revered, spiritual place in the household. Doelmesses respect strength and so hostile takeovers by other clansmen and the changing of husbands does not spurn them like their emaciated or slain ex-husbands. However, a Doelmess will fiercely fight non-Doelms to protect children. Doelm males will give their last drop of blood to protect a camp. Although Doelmesses are capable, the ultimate shame of a Doelm is the failure to protect one’s family. Family takeovers are a part of Doelmish life and the strongest Doelm usually has won the most wives and therefore has the largest family. The family is a Doelm’s pride.

The Doelm women are the unsung heroines of the Doelmish world. During the Fall of Gorgloth, the men of Doljinaar sacked every Doelm city and slew the Doelm king. Men put all of Gorgloth’s armies to the sword. This widowed all Doelmesses. Doljinaar had originally attempted to wipe out the Doelm race. They went after the families, but the Doelmesses fought them back using savage guerrilla warfare. The casualties were too high after the long war and so Doljinaar essentially gave up, figuring the families would not survive in a ravaged country, but they underestimated the Life-Givers of Gorgloth. The Doelmesses saved the race and raised new sons, their only mistake was submitting to young reckless male leadership, which led to decades of civil war as chieftains fought endlessly for dominion over a now largely divided Gorgloth.

Size does matter in Doelmish culture. Doelm children are raised primarily by their birth mother. A father offers limited guidance since strong males head multiple wives and offspring. Like the ancient Spartans, Doelms live in a cruel warrior society. Doelms discard unshapely babies as well, but there is a second culling at puberty. Doelm children are torn from their mother’s breasts at puberty. The size of the teenager determines the Doelm’s class. Doelms can range from seven feet to a stunted four feet tall. Tall Doelms are bred to be warriors, and become the honored leaders of the clans, but short Doelms are forced to be Runts.  Runts get no respect and are used as nothing but grueling laborers.  Of course, a Doelm adolescent can take still make the warrior caste if he sprouts late and proves himself. If a Runt never spouts he is castrated in early adulthood to prevent the outspread of his weak genes. Female runts are scored in a similar way and serve as slaves to the Doelmesses.

Despite their tenacious strength, Doelms have had great difficulty over the past centuries seeing the massive flaws in their dying society. They remain on the brink of utter ruin. Their people starve and clash over the rubble of ruins long stripped of their valuables. Doelmish warfare has degenerated to such an animalistic level that the word Doelm has been compared by other societies to having a reckless and doltish disregard for one’s own life. The people of Gorgloth were the once proud Dolem, as they were called in their own lost language, now Gorgloth is but a long forgotten legend.

Doelmish desperation has grown so great that many Doelms flee Gorgloth and resettle in the western lands ruled by the iron fist of their ancient enemies in Doljinaar. Unable to stand against the world’s greatest superpower, these Doelms lurk in the shadows of its hides and great wildernesses. This Doelm, in the pictures below, is a highwayman who lives in Karus Forest. He preys on travelers on the rural northern roads and shrinks back into the vast forest. He lives in a thief camp and the sewers of Kurn is his idea of a palace, but many Doelms see the rogue life in Doljinaar as preferable to starving in their ancestral home. He has become a Westernized Doelm and will probably never return to Gorgloth.

I’m unsure we’ll ever shake the stigma of “that’s a blue Orc.” Doelms and Orcs certainly have a lot in common, although we hope readers will one day recognize the dark unique beauty of the Doelm race. The people of ancient Gorgloth have left behind many lost secrets that remain to be unearthed. Their dark arts run deeper than they remember. Doelms was also a fitting name in a large part due to the monstrous abominations this once great civilization birthed, who share similar names. Some say these abominations still walk the lands in dark places. You’ll see the first of such abominations as the Ooelm in Shade 2, which will be out within the calendar year. The many ancient secrets of Gorlgoth will be unlocked in due time.

I’ll conclude with this jaw-dropping new art-piece of a fully colored Doelm warrior. The darkly beautiful, brutish humanoid has never seemed so realized as in this picture. For more great races and details check out our website here:
http://www.chroniclesofcovent.com/races.html

New characters, races, creatures and places with be revealed with each new book!

 

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