Soltakin

The soltakin are soul-taken wraith-like entities knowing only the need to extinguish all Light. Their master, Margus, ripped their souls from their mortal vessels and grew them in dungeons deep.

Find them in all four Arcana books.

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In the Realm of the Dispossessed

“How do I open it?” Sabian asked, rolling the metal orb over.

“Drop it,” Elianas muttered, staring fixedly at the sphere.

Sabian dropped it.

Torrullin stepped away a pace, a mask slipping over his face.

The petals appeared as expected and there the green sparking commenced.

Sabian leaned over it. “Intriguing. My experience tells me of wisps of white smoke, sometimes colourful flower designs, but a moving sphere is quite rare. One cannot usually see souls; it is more a sense of sight. This one is pretty established.” He looked up. “It is either long held, in which case, innocent or not, it will be most unhappy, or it is newly harvested and therefore still maintains clear presence.”

Neither man said a word in response.

Sabian shrugged and kneeled. “I shall now breathe on it.”

Torrullin cleared his throat. “Breathe? As simple as that?”

“My ancient breath was not given me via simplicity, Torrullin.”

“True.” Torrullin swallowed. “Go ahead.”

Sabian leaned in close. Elianas abruptly hunkered to see more clearly, while Torrullin remained unmoving. Sabian blew on the swirling emerald orb. Torrullin became as stone. He understood he now guarded his heart against whatever came next. The kneeling man opened his mouth wide and exhaled forcefully.

The spinning ceased.

Sparks snuffed out.

Elianas braced with hands flat on the ground beside him.

The circular shape curved outward and then elongated into an impossibly thin thread reaching into the sky. Green sprinkles erupted as if exploding, and then they vanished. The metal device disintegrated, until only dull glitters remained.

“Direct to Aaru,” Sabian murmured, sitting back.

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THE MASTER MECHANISM

The Master Mechanism

It’s finally up!

THE FINAL LORE BOOK!

While I wanted to wait until all the Lore covers have been updated before releasing this, the final volume, I’ve had too many queries from loyal readers about when – when? – will it be available, and decided to do so.

The Master mechanism is on pre-order until July 20 for a mere 99c. Do grab your copy now, while I update the covers! Serendipity and synchronicity may just allow us to have it all coming together at the same time 🙂

mech on pre order

Available on Amazon 

On Souls

“Between planes, parallels and realms are spaces filled with energy and they attract and repel each other simultaneously. Every spark is awareness. Spark is light in dark and awareness is the energy created by that light. It is never random and it learns moment by moment until it becomes, and once it has become, it is. All it needs then is a vessel to open its eyes and see.”

The Nowhere Sphere

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Passion is Varied

It is a known truth that people vary in appearance, personality, goals, ambitions, character, desires, culture, creed, religion, temperament, intelligence, acceptance of system, government, others, in prejudice and fairness.

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Passion set people apart. Every sentient had a passion, even the lazy man; his passion was doing as little as possible. The mean-spirited, his passion was hurting others; the charitable soul loved helping those less fortunate. The academic, knowledge; a writer, words; a mother, her children; the scientist, order; the priest, love of his deity; a road builder, satisfaction of a job well done; a gardener, nature; the poor man, security; the rich man, more wealth; a beggar, change … and so forth.

 * A snippet from The Echolone Mine *

Acorn to Oak

The Power of Belief

Trapped in a thirsty desert, Tristamil is about to surrender.

A smile settled on burnt lips and he closed his eyes. He visualised himself as a sapling oak sprung from the health and vitality of a perfect acorn, growing steadily in fertile soil under a benign sun and showered with blessed rain.

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With infinite care, he saw himself reach for maturity, bright emerald leaves unfurling from tight green buds after a long cold winter, raising up to the beginning of a new spring, and felt in that visualisation in perfect sync with the pattern of the universe. It was not a hallucination or an imagining borne of desperate hope; it was an awakening of his true self.

This is life.

He extended his tongue to catch the coolness of raindrops.

His eyes snapped open. He licked his lips. Chapped, burnt, swollen … and wet.

The awesome imaginings of a sane mind could drive one to crazy acts, but the frightening delusions of a feverish mind could drive one entirely insane, sometimes beyond redemption.

Is my need so dire I am delusional?

Yet, there it was again.

Raindrops.

Tristamil rose, afraid to dislodge the delusion. Glad of the delusion. Even if it ended now, as hard as disappointment would be, it was satisfying.

When he stepped into a puddle of fresh rainwater, the blessed cool bringing instant relief to a hot, blistered foot, he laughed aloud and put his other foot in. It was worth the pain after, to feel cool and refreshed in his mind, no matter how short-lived. He sank to his knees in the puddle and drank, slurping greedily like one of the Keep’s kitchen mongrels, enjoying each dunking of the tongue.

I am an oak tree, young yet, reaching for the stars, and I shall grow strong and mighty. He rocked back to drink more sedately, more in keeping with how he envisioned himself.

It was real. While he believed in the purity of his oaken self, it would be there for him. If he lost faith the desert of his previous pretence would return.

I believe.

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