A Tree with many Branches

Valla kin recognise each other by the blue fire when skin touches skin, and this phenomenon is known as trebac.

In The Kinfire Tree you will discover the truth about the reality of kin. More than that, though, is the concept TREE in Kinfire. To that end, the solitary tree album signifies the loneliness of a tree, yet with many branches, much as family has many branches.

solitary tree


Arcana, Reaume and Sanctum have their own Facebook Pages as well, and each features photo albums to showcase the worlds, concepts and people of this multiverse.

Galilan, for example, is the capital city of Valaris, and much happens there. It’s an old city, with high gates and park benches. From the mansions of the wealthy to the destitution of the poor, Galilan is a city of secrets, beauty and class distinction.

Below is a small section of the images showcasing Galilan:


Galilan’s Photo Album

The Riddle of Life

Lowen Dalrish in The Kallanon Scales:

“My father always said that life hands us a riddle and we have no choice but to take it, and our goal is to ponder that riddle. Some never go beyond the superficial meaning and others go crazy trying to understand, and others realise there is no one answer and we must find the one thing that makes us go forward and live with ourselves.”


This Throne is all new

A glorious new cover for The Drowned Throne!

option 2 Elaina Lore of Arcana 3 The Drowned Throne (2)

From the cesspool of Silas Island into the underworld of Two Town, the battle for Valaris continues. As epic storms batter the continent, men, women and children succumb to soltakin touch and darkling blade.

It is time to unveil the hidden half-race from under the sands of the Vall Peninsula; Valaris needs soldiers as much as she needs hope. It is time also to face Margus in his lair and throw down the gauntlet.

Arrayed against his might is the small team of defenders, among them Taranis of the Guardians, Vannis of the Valleur, and Torrullin, a man with a dual nature, who as often fights the darkness rising within as he fights to save his world.

Dreams and visions plague Torrullin; he battles to find himself when fate appears omnipotent and love seems ever beyond his reach.

The extinct Gosa volcano erupts as sacred sites implode to create earthquakes and tidal waves. A monster wave races to the site of an epic confrontation before an ancient and powerful golden seat.

The Valleur Throne is about to assume ultimate status.

The Drowned Throne – Amazon


War Horns and Scimitars

An ancient oath is made new

The Dinor were an ugly people. Although short in stature, an average of about five feet, they were brawny with heavy muscles. They were strong, familiar with toil … or war.

More likely was raiding, preying on each other, but united now in this quest, absolution from an ancient oath. Generally swarthy, they were hairy with bushy dark hair and full beards. Square faces, big noses with flaring nostrils – also hairy – and deep-set eyes under protruding brows. They were almost prehistoric in make-up, but their eyes swiftly belied a primitive way of thinking, revealing they were more than first appearances.

Not only were the eyes sharp in intelligence, but also startling in colour. There was not a pair of dark eyes among them; black irises encircled by opal-coloured pupils so light it bled away into the white. There was nothing prehistoric about it; these were the eyes of sorcerers.

They wore leather breeches and knee-high boots with blackened spurs – horse riders or naturally vicious? Heavy fur coats, roughly worked and smelly, enlarged already broad shoulders, and weighty scimitars hung from a leather harness looped from one shoulder across their barrel chests.


Some had drawn these intimidating weapons, and the metal, too, was besmirched. It seemed they had a liking of creeping up on the unsuspecting. The corrupted metal would reveal no tell-tale glints. Also hanging from shoulder straps were huge horns, some of wood, others of bone, and all daubed in camouflage.


The Dinor men were accustomed to fighting. To let them loose on Valaris would be unmitigated disaster.

They were familiar with sorcery. How much was difficult to guess at, but judging by their unseen waiting, the instantaneous and simultaneous materialisation, and the fact that neither Torrullin nor Tristamil sensed more than a mild signature – and then only because they were forewarned – the Dinor had no mean degree of power at their command.

A formidable enemy.


Thundor of the Thinnings

Tiny eavesdropper with a pure heart

It was tiny, five fingers tall, and round, with a blue cap perched jauntily atop a bald head. It was clothed in tiny red breeches, blue boots, green tunic, yellow waistcoat, and a broad blue belt held its breeches up around a fat stomach. Its face reddened under the scrutiny, a button-nose twitching. Bright blue eyes darted. Small hands grasped the cage, shaking the bars.


Torrullin, a smile tugging at his mouth, released the catch. Thundor stepped out, dramatically straightening clothes and then smoothed a hand over his stomach. He twisted his head, all the while watching everyone. It took real courage to appear amid giants, but he was so cocksure no one saw how his tiny heart caused him distress. Finally he stood, hands clasped behind his back, a foot tapping.

Universal Fourteen

Tradition and Time

Tristamil explains the fourteen concepts that rule Valleur society:

“Fourteen is the universal number upon which magic is based. We build fourteen sacred sites per world in keeping with that philosophy, and that is the first tradition. The second is the order in which we erect them.

“First is the Lifesource, then the Throne-room, thereafter the rest. The third tradition is the passing of the Dragon from Vallorin to heir at the appointed time. The fourth is the safekeeping of the Oracles, the fifth, the scrying of a newborn’s name, and the sixth is this ceremony of today (Coming-of-Age).

“The seventh is the learning of sorcery beyond what we inherently know. The eighth is the absolute autonomy of the Vallorin; we are not, nor were we ever, a democracy. The ninth is Nemisin’s runes, known only to the House of Valla, and the tenth is our longevity both natural and enhanced. The eleventh is our total intolerance of darak.

“The twelfth is a belief in prophecy and the thirteenth? We regard ourselves as master-builders, and build with heart, soul and magic. The fourteenth? For as long as one Valleur lives, we were first and will be last in all things.”