As always, sit back and relax!
AUTHOR LEE DUNNING
Not entirely sure why you're reading this, my books are far more entertaining, but since you've bothered to pop over I suppose I ought to have the decency to tell you a little about myself.
I've done many things over the years, including daring the horrors of IT for over 24 years. At the moment I'm reinventing myself (i.e. retraining) as an accountant. I know, that sounds terribly dull, but it is a profession in demand pretty much everywhere, so I can live where I wish and not have to worry about keeping a roof over my head. Of course, there is more to me than that. I've worked with digital art since 2004, and have gotten to the point I am able to occasionally sell said art (sometimes to myself - see my cover). Photoshop is heavily involved in that area as well.
Oh, and yes, I write. It's nearly a given these days, isn't it?
As of July 26th, 2014, I am officially a published author, with my book, "Exile's Redemption" available at Amazon in Kindle and Trade Paperback formats. I'm working on the sequel, and hope to have it out before folks have forgotten what happened in the first book.
I live with five cats, four Siamese and one horrified orange tabby. I live in the desert but hope to relocate to the Pacific Northwest after I finish my current studies
The demon possessed army of King Oblund has been crushed but at great cost. The people of Teresland, betrayed by their king, face a winter without leadership, manpower or food. The elves, unwilling regents of this devastated human kingdom, struggle with understanding a people foreign and hostile toward them.
Now, the demons which destroyed Second Home have scented the vulnerability of Teresland and set out to draw the elves into more conflict. Conflict which they cannot ignore but are ill-prepared to face. With Lord W'rath trapped within his own mind, comatose, the elves must prepare for battle without his strength.
Raven, restless to prove herself, decides on a reckless plan, one which could either provide the elves with a new weapon, or doom her and W'rath both.
Lord Darson looked upon his liege, King Oblund. Former liege, he reminded himself. He still couldn’t believe the man he’d served for twenty years had betrayed his country. The Church of the Duality had investigated though, and deemed the man guilty of consorting with demonologists and using his own people to fuel the foul spells of the mages.
The disgraced king hadn’t said a word since Darson entered. His finery gone, his hair and beard unkempt, Oblund bore little resemblance to the fearsome warrior king Darson had come to visit one last time. “The elves make demands of us,” Lord Darson told Oblund. “Your folly has reduced us to playing serf to these point-eared pricks.” He gave a humorless laugh. “Pricks, that’s funny. I can’t even tell if any of them really have any. Their women are flat chested and have no hips, and their men no beards. They all look alike. That mincing fuck, Lord Icewind is the worst. He should spend his time in the gardens with the rest of the flowers, not standing before real men, telling them if they want to eat, they have to dig the dirt like a peasant.”
Oblund said nothing, and Lord Darson sighed. He was ranting to someone who no longer cared about what went on around him. It’s as if he’s already lost his head.
A sudden clamor outside the prison entry drew Lord Darson to his feet. Flames shot by the barred window set high up the door. A female voice yelled something in Elvish, and Lord Darson realized, one of the guards who had let him in was female. Another roar, this one distinctly masculine, followed the woman’s bellows, and more magic flashed, sending wild shadows across the walls of the cell.
From the next cell a voice rose in fear. The crippled mercenary. Lord Darson ignored him and instead approached the exit. “What’s going on out there?” he demanded. The door shook in its hinges as something large and heavy crashed into it, threatening to reduce it to splinters. Lord Darson jumped back with a cry.
Silence fell outside the door. No more magic tore through the air. Not even the torches lent a glow to the grate.
The mercenary cried out again.
“Shut up, you fool,” Lord Darson spat. He took a step back and found himself pressed up against the bars of Oblund’s cell.
Hot breath filtered through the bars and tickled Lord Darson’s ear. He flinched and an unmanly mewl escaped his throat. From behind him, Oblund spoke at last. “They’re here.” He giggled.
Something slapped at the door to the hall. Something wet. Oblund tittered. Lord Darson pissed himself.