Throne of Jelzicar – Meet Drahvyn

In a world slowly being consumed by demons, only the bravest dare to rise up to stand against these mighty adversaries. It is understandable that a dwarven warrior and an elven magic user would join the group, but what of a mere human? What skill could he have? Here is a brief glimpse into why Drahvyn has been chosen to fight in this war against the Emphan army of demons.

Excerpt from Throne of Jelzicar:

Dawn approached with the hateful promise of evil and torment that would follow. He had packed dried foods and canteens of water into his satchels the night before. Now he slung these over his shoulder. He strapped his sheath across his shoulder so that it lay against his back and slipped his sword into it with accuracy and precision that hinted to years of experience. This was why Evarlass truly wanted him, a mere human with no magic powers, to join them on their quest. Drahvyn was strong and he was one of the most feared in battle. Any time the city walls were impinged upon, he had swung his sword high and true. Swift movements, combined with the massive sword he had forged for himself, made him unstoppable against the strongest of enemies. Even a demon would be no match for him. Everyone knew it to be true.

~Please note, this is an unedited excerpt. Final versions are subject to changes during the editing process.

Share This on Your Page

Posted in Warriors of Gravenlea and tagged , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , by with no comments yet.

The After Hours Saga: A Warrior’s Heart

In the shadows of the trees, he stands. Watching. Waiting. The arrow is taught against his string. He feels the muscles in his arm and shoulder tensed and ready. All he must do is release. The waiting is truly the hardest part. Through the bushes and overgrowth, he can hear the animal moving. It draws closer, yet he does not waiver. He cannot afford the luxury of fear, for it would only mean the end for him.

The animal closes in, and now he can hear it breathing. In this instant, most would have run. He does not. The warrior inside of him would never allow him to run. He stands his ground, waiting for the wicked beast to emerge.

It does not disappoint. The animal lumbers toward him at great speed. He does not allow himself to feel anything as he progresses through the movements, for he cannot afford to. He takes aim, steadying his hand, and releases. Muscles, instantly merciful for the loss of the strain, help guide his hand back to his quiver from memory. He draws another arrow.

It is not necessary. The beast falls to its belly on the carpet of the forest floor in front of him. He walks to it and taps it with his boot. No movement. The beast is dead. He turns, and walks deeper into the forest.


It is sometimes said that the heart of a true warrior lies in what he does in the first moments of battle. Does he stay and fight to the death? Does he flee? It is in these moments, when faced with true danger, that the warrior is made.

This warrior was not made to flee. He was made to fight. He may live many years, or he may be killed fighting off a beast. Either way, he will not become a victim to his fear. The archer lives another day, deep in the heart of the forest.

Share This on Your Page

Posted in After Hours and Other Ramblings and tagged , , , , , , , , , , , , , , by with no comments yet.