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Aiden’s Call 1: Guardian’s Crest

Aiden’s Call 1: Guardian’s Crest


A wilderness trial shapes the destiny of a young leader in this thrilling origin tale of courage and destiny.

There are few in Elysium with a noble heart like Aiden’s. As the one who carries on the legacy of the Guardian Angels Mercenary clan, Aiden has seen both fame and notoriety. Those whom the Guardians have assisted are eternally grateful and owe their lives to the clan. Those who have not yet experienced the clan’s selfless saving power are doubtful at best, and outright hateful at worst of this strange Mercenary clan.

Of course, not everyone agrees with good for the sake of good. Evil exists in the hearts of many people, in our world as well as Elysium. Therefore the Guardian Angels have also learned to defend and destroy when necessary. As Aiden’s father often said, when there is no recourse, evil must be blotted out from the world without mercy or hesitation.

Typically a clan of Mercenaries exists to help itself and its members, but the mission of the Guardian Angels is to protect the innocent and the weak, the orphans and the widows, those for whom life has been hard. Elysium was good to Aiden’s family, allowing them to organize a new type of clan, one that builds its ranks through service and charity, like the Arthurian knights of legend in this world.

Aiden’s story begins when he was only 16, when he was anointed by the Aigles from above to prosper the clan of his father for the peace and glory of all Elysium.

Each youth in the clan must face a wilderness challenge shortly after their sixteenth birthday, called the Journey of the Spirit. The seven day and night fast takes the youth unarmed through some of the most unforgiving terrain on the continent. For Aiden’s journey, a mighty storm followed him the entire way. By evening of the seventh day, after facing a mighty and ravenous crow, Aiden was hurt and disheartened. His journey was nearly over, but he wondered if he truly had the mettle and the heart to lead.

Just then an eagle flew over his head and spoke to Aiden in the voice of the wind. “Take heart,” it said, “for your battle is not on the ground, but in the air.” The eagle flapped its wings once and a cloud formed. Then the cloud became an image of the great shield that would become known as the Guardian’s Crest, the heart of the Guardian Angels. The storm finally broke, and Aiden was filled with peace and confidence as he had never felt before; the strength to persevere entered his body. He no longer doubted or feared his life’s purpose.

Though to this day Aiden does not fully understand the meaning of the eagle’s prophecy, he does his best to live by it. Following his vision, Aiden’s father was visited by an eagle as well, which told him to pass the reigns to his noble son for the good of the clan and for the good of all Elysium.


Song of Aiden | Part 1

Alone in the wild, with wings beating true,
An eagle above was there sent to renew
A servant of servants who felt for the lost,
And looked for a path through the trials he crossed.

The Guardians Angels, whose deeds are renowned,
Protect all the innocent on sacred ground.
Yet not all who breathe will so welcome such grace,
For some doubt their purpose and shun their embrace.

For evil’s grim shadow, it lurks and it thrives,
In Elysium’s depths, where the darkness connives.
To combat this shadow, the Guardians stand,
Defenders of justice, with unwavering hand.

When Aiden arose, at his sixteen years’ call,
He was blessed by the Aigles to lead and enthrall.
In Journey of Spirit, a test of his might,
He fought seven days, through the darkness’s blight.

Unarmed he ventured, through wilderness dread,
A mighty storm raging and close at his head.
Battered and bruised by a crow’s fierce attack,
Regret filled his heart and his spirit did lack.

But skyward an Aigle, with golden wings grand,
Whispered in wind’s voice a soothing command:
“Your battle lies not on the sullen, dry ground,
But soaring above, where true valor is found.”

A cloud then transformed to a shimmering shield:
The Guardian’s Crest, and a purpose revealed.
Peace and assurance, a newfound delight,
Filled Aiden with wonder before the dark night.

Though prophecy’s meaning is veiled in mystique,
The ones who shall hear are the ones who shall seek.
His father’s new vision, a bright guiding call,
To lead then the Guardian Angels for all.


Coming soon:

Aiden’s Call 2: Earning His Wings

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Eternal Paradox | Alex Reborn: Childhoodwinked

Eternal Paradox | Alex Reborn: Childhoodwinked


Like time, the wheels of fate rarely spin with any sort of predictable precision. We long to believe certain tales, we cry out with weapons like reason and logic, we pray for patterns by which we can govern the world, but too often we are scattered like snowflakes in a brutal winter storm.

The stories we tell ourselves do not always resolve into happy endings, and to the story of our lives there is only one true resolution in death. But take heart, for while the great tragedy ensnares everyone we shall ever know and love, not every sad story ends in death, and some begin with it.

In a peaceful village called Izu, one such story began over two decades ago with an omen of blood-red skies and darkness during the day. The people of Izu knew nothing of Black Sun, the ancient secret society whose legacy was terror and blood sacrifice. They knew nothing of the history of their local ruin, known as Sarem. After all, if the people of Izu had known even a speck of that story, they would not have established their settlement in the midst of Black Sun’s most sacred sacrificial site, the altar of Sarem.

Evil altars may be worn down to ruins over time and forgotten by the ages, but their evil remains, like a stain on the fabric of reality, a dark shadow that lingers in the corners of a child’s nightmares.

Behold the innocent child of this cruel fate, a boy of seven, a boy called Alex. He was not made for this world, and such nightmares plagued his early years. Each night, an eternity would pass as the terrors of Black Sun’s legacy paraded through his dreams. He often thought the nightmare was over, only to discover that he had been tricked. The poor lad spent more time in nightmares than in the world; the dreams were strikingly real, and their memories stuck with Alex all his life into adulthood.

To share the horrific details of these dark dreams would not serve our purpose, so instead we focus on how Alex’s torment made him stronger. Trapping an innocent in a prison of nightmares is not a natural thing. Compare it to tossing a kitten or chicken into a raging ocean maelstrom. Chances are that the small creature will be broken and dragged under within seconds. But if that kitten survives, if that chicken somehow escapes from the whirlpool and struggles eventually to the shore, it would be counted worthy among all kittens, exalted among chickens.

Alex’s destiny was not to die when the maelstrom of Black Sun finally enveloped the village of Izu. He had been set aside by fate, marked by time and called to the Eternal Paradox much later in life. He had survived his nightmares, and he would survive what was coming.

The clansmen of Black Sun had cast powerful darkness spells, then set out for Izu in great force to restore their sacred altar at Sarem. The parts of the world that had already experienced their terror firsthand knew that fear was their primary form of attack. The ancient magic would strike despair and chaos into the hearts of their victims even before the physical onslaught from the legions.

The sun over Izu turned black three days before the attack. By day the sky was a dark, blood red. The moonlight and starlight were stolen from the night skies. The leaders of Izu fought bravely against the fear of these omens, praying to their gods and mustering their defenses against any possible enemy. Even in this far corner of the world, they had heard tales of evil magic preceding a slaughter from afar known as black punishment.

Under the impending curse of black punishment, weaker villages would scatter their leadership and run for the hills, but Izu stood strong, even as the Black Sun legions appeared in full force on the hill that overlooked the village, ready to charge. They stood like a thousand shadow statues. When the charge commenced, walls rattled and the earth shook.

We will not tell you of the bloodshed upon Izu that day. We will not describe the wails of the women nor the cries of the babies as they were ripped from their mothers’ arms. We will not recount the stench of slaughter in the air as every living creature was cut down and destroyed at the hands of a vile cultist mob called Black Sun.

Instead, we will look with hope for the future at the one child who survived, hungry and shivering in the depths of a cave where the invaders would never find him. Before departing to join the fight and meet his own end, Alex’s Father hid him away in this secret place with instructions not to emerge for at least seven days, when he knew the cultists would have moved on to their next bloody target.

The youth did as he was told. The damp and treacherous blackness was no more terrifying than the dreams through which he had suffered all his life: An eternity of darkness. While lost in those depths, Alex discovered his life’s purpose and was born anew. When seven days had passed, so did his fear, so he knew it was once again safe to emerge from the cave. He did so, but he was no longer a child.

At first the light burned his eyes, but he felt its warmth and moved toward it, staggering with disorientation. With blurred vision, Alex trudged bravely through the carrion birds and along the bloodspattered stones, toward the smoldering ruins of his home.


COMING SOON: Alex Reborn 2: Cry of the Misfit

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Eternal Paradox | The Bianca Chronicles 1: The Sea is Yours

Eternal Paradox | The Bianca Chronicles 1: The Sea is Yours


“Lunge, thrust, slash, spin,” she muttered to herself once again through heavy breath as a stinging drop of sweat dripped from her forehead down into a wildly beautiful green eye.

Bianca’s vision blurred for a moment with the sweat sting, but the death sentence was already pronounced on the poor straw-filled sackdummy Clara had crafted for the evening’s practice. Mercilessly slicing through the imaginary enemy, she completed her drill and golden straw showered all around, much of it sticking to her hair where it glistened in the setting island sun. The remains of the sack slipped slowly from the crosspoles Perkins had placed that morning.

With sabers at the ready, she stood heaving and snarling, almost wishing there was a flesh and blood enemy at the tips of her blades.

Where does it come from?

She had often wondered the same about her mysterious sense of violence and adventure. She refocused her eyes to look out, down the hill and over the marble cliffs, where the ocean waves crashed ruthlessly against the rocks below. Bianca wondered how many ships had run aground on those cliffs over the years. She herself had scoured the remains of shipwrecks several times in her sixteen years, and the only valuables she had ever found were her dual sabers. Still, it always seemed someone else was able to get there first, looting the best treasures and leaving nothing but soaked black powder and broken jars of pickled fish. Or maybe the treasures were taken by the sea. Mother always said the sea takes as much as it gives.

The sea is yours…

Why did she always feel this drive to the waters? Hers was not a family of adventurers or fishers. Mother was a cloakmaker and Bianca never knew her father. Mother would have none of Bianca’s swordplay. In fact, when she found her weapons at twelve, she had stashed them away in a secret cave for fear that Mother would make her sell them off. She found old Perkins some time after that snooping around her cave. “Show me what you got,” the old man had said with a twinkle in his eye, then parried her every thrust with his walking stick and a cackling laugh. From that day on, she had a friend in Perkins and another in his goodhearted wife, Clara.

For the last few years, Bianca had trained under the tutelage of the old couple. Clara showed her what berries were safe to eat, how to make fire, and the secrets of small game trapping that were handed down through generations of her family. Perkins taught her how to fight with unbridled fury. He taught her not to be afraid, and he taught her how to sail on his old fishing boat. Bianca always told herself Perkins had enlisted her help only because he was too old to man the riggings on his own, but with the way he constantly bested her in sparring matches with only a stick ensured that deep down she knew the truth: The old man loved her like a daughter.

“Y’already destroyed that one too?!” The merry cry came from behind, where Clara made her way carefully up the hill, assisted by her best hickory cane.

Turning over her shoulder and grinning slyly, Bianca called out in response, “The scallywag weren’t worth a wet weasel! Both women laughed.

“Might be next time I’ll fix a suit of chainmail, but I spect you’ll slash right through that’n as well,” Clara said with a warm smile and the hearty chuckle of a much younger woman. “C’mon down and wash up, Binky. Y’look like a scarecrow with all that straw in your hair. We don’t want yer Ma thinking you’ve been rolling in the hay with some boy!” This was a good point, Bianca thought, as the fact she had recently taken a keen interest in the opposite sex had not escaped her Mother’s attention.

After one more longing look toward the sea, Bianca sheathed her swords, then turned and walked the old woman down the hill toward the little cottage with smoke rising from its chimney. She treasured these little moments with Clara, who reminded Bianca of a grandmother she had never known. As red filled the sky and the sun slowly disappeared, Bianca began to smell the delicious stew that Perkins was stirring in that big black pot. Perkins made a mean stew, and Bianca was famished from practice.

When they entered, Perkins was sitting on the edge of his leather chair, facing the door with a strangely sober look on his wrinkled face. After a pause that seemed to suck the air from the room, he suddenly barked, “When do we fight, Bianca?”

Her response came without delay: “When the night is darkest.”

“Aye,” said Perkins. “When do we run?”

“When the fight ain’t ready for us,” said Bianca, who was starting to feel like she had done something wrong.

“Good girl.” The tension dissipated and the three settled down to eat as the red sky turned into a moonless and hazy black.

The sea is yours…

An hour later with a half full stomach (politely leaving some room for Mother’s porridge and crispy bacon) and a head full of curiosities, Bianca strolled down the path toward the little village. She didn’t need to make excuses about spending time with Perkins and Clara; Mother liked the couple and figured her daughter was some kind of do-gooder. She probably even bragged about it to her younger widowed friends. Mother didn’t really have any married friends, as is so often the way for those who have embraced single life.

Down the hill in the dark, Bianca heard a commotion and saw torchlights… angry torchlights.

Marauders. Or thieves. Or collectors.

Quieting her mind, Bianca crouched and waited as the small mob approached. She heard their boisterous voices long before she smelled the rum and gunpowder they carried, but each of these pieces convinced her of a single undeniable fact: This was a band of pirates.

Suddenly chilled to her core, Bianca froze as some twenty armed ruffians marched past. Thankfully she was not noticed, but she then realized with terror that they could only be approaching the little cottage from whence she came.


COMING SOON: The Bianca Chronicles 2: The Darkest Night

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