Marius H. Visser's Blog
November 14, 2024
Creating Magic: My Journey as a Fantasy Writer and the Power of Building Worlds and Shaping Characters
As a fantasy writer, I truly believe that the best stories invite readers to jump into the vast and captivating worlds we create. Writing isn’t just my job; it’s a thrilling adventure that allows me to explore my imagination while sharing that wonder with you. In this post, I’m thrilled to take you on a personal journey through the art of world-building and character creation that transforms simple words into something extraordinary.
Being an author is a profound experience that bestows upon us a power that is often likened to that of gods. Through the written word, we possess the ability to manipulate time itself, stretching mere moments into everlasting memories or transforming an eternity into a fleeting instant. The act of crafting a story allows us to weave intricate tapestries of imagination, where characters come to life, worlds unfold before our eyes, and emotions resonate deeply within the hearts of our readers.
Every writer has that moment of inspiration—the flash that ignites creativity. Mine struck unexpectedly one rainy evening as I flipped through a classic sword and sorcery tale written by David Gemmell called Winter Warriors. I was whisked away to a realm where anything was possible, where heroes faced immense challenges. That thrilling sensation stirred something deep within me, pushing me to craft my own epic fantasy narrative.
The beauty of fantasy lies in endless possibilities. Each world I create can reflect unique landscapes, cultures, and histories. For example, I’ve imagined bustling nightlife in oppressed cities, eerie lands of forgotten empires, and magical cities in inhospitable realms. This creative freedom drives my imagination, inviting me to explore innovative concepts, engaging characters, and adventurous plots beyond conventional limits.
World-building is an intricate process that demands careful thought and attention to detail. It involves creating a new reality where readers can escape and immerse themselves. Every detail, from geography to political dynamics, weaves together the story's fabric.
I typically begin with a simple question: what does this world feel like? Once I have an idea, I map out significant locations, develop rich histories, and immerse myself in the culture. For instance, I’ve crafted realms featuring towering mountains, enchanted forests, floating islands, I've created tales where reality merges with the fantastical—all waiting to be explored.
What excites me most is how these environments shape the characters who dwell within them. When I design a setting, I consider how it influences my characters’ motivations and desires. For instance, a character raised in a bustling city might have a different outlook than one from a remote village, impacting their choices and interactions throughout the story the same as how a character raised in a house of wealth would not make the same choices as someone raised on the streets.
Now that we have the world, it’s time to fill it with characters. To me, characters are the heart of any narrative. They are the lenses through which readers experience the universe I’ve crafted.
I prioritize creating characters who are relatable, flawed, and multi-dimensional. They should evoke emotions—readers should cheer for them, weep for them, and at times, feel frustration towards them, and even downright hate them, because that's their job. For example, my protagonist could be a young warrior torn between loyalty to their kingdom and love for someone labelled a foe. This internal struggle generates tension, enriching the narrative with emotional depth.
To develop my characters, I delve into their backgrounds, aspirations, and challenges. For instance, one character might be driven by a desire to prove themselves in a world that often dismisses the young. Each moment of conflict, whether a sweeping battle or a quiet moment of loss, builds resilience and depth, making the characters' journeys resonate more powerfully with readers. Or like in my Stormfall Cycle series, where Calmantis, who stems from a wealthy family, fights to prove his worth in the world, trying to become a Knight of the Order of Eternal Sacrament instead of accepting his generational inheritance. A near-impossible feat for someone like him. Or is it?
Storytelling transcends simple words; it allows us to explore the human experience, tackle significant themes, and foster connections. When I write, I often find myself enveloped in the narrative, experiencing the highs and lows right alongside my characters. That transformative power fuels my passion as an author. My wife still finds it insane that I tell her: "I don't know who's gonna die. Or what a character might say or do in a certain situation." At times the story takes me just as much as it would the reader, and scenes flow out, characters become alive, making decisions I would never have even thought of.
Every time I type the final sentence, I feel immense fulfilment, and a little sadness, because I know that story is done for me. Knowing that my stories can inspire, entertain, and uplift keeps me motivated. I thrive on the idea that readers will journey alongside my characters, sharing in their triumphs and trials.
Ultimately, my goal is to create a sanctuary where you can escape reality, even for a brief moment, and dive into a world brimming with adventures, magic, and meaningful connections. This magic isn’t just for you; it thrives within me as well.
As I look back on my journey as a fantasy writer, I'm filled with gratitude for each of you who join me in these worlds. Your passion for epic fantasy and sword and sorcery stories breathes life into my words.
In this shared experience, I’ve discovered that the magic of storytelling is a bridge connecting us—a means for us to explore dreams, confront fears, and celebrate victories together. So, thank you for embarking on this adventure with me. Here’s to the worlds yet to be built and the stories yet to be told!
And talking of worlds waiting to be explored, Book 3 of the Stormfall Cycle is nearing completion. It has taken me much longer than I anticipated, thanks mainly to the new addition to our family, my little boy and bundle of joy (and sleepless nights). It has kept me a little distracted, but the work is still continuing.
In your hands lies the power to explore realms unknown, where adventure awaits, and magic is just a page away. I can’t wait to share more of my journey with you in the stories to come. Happy reading!
June 20, 2024
February 28, 2024
Echoes of the Darsfiëre Release date!
Book two is done! Covers are finalised! Edits are complete! The only thing now is for you to read it.
Release date: 28 March 2024
Bound by fate, forged in adversity, heroes carve their own path.
With Jonas on the brink of losing his humanity, Jorin, accompanied by Vernak and Tunisia, undertakes a perilous mission to retrieve the shattered pieces of the Darsfiëre – a blade holding the essence of his father’s soul. Their journey takes them into the heart of darkness, where ancient secrets lie dormant and dangers lurk in every shadow.
As they navigate treacherous landscapes and confront formidable adversaries, Jorin grapples with his own identity and the weight of his family legacy. With each step, they inch closer to unlocking the mysteries that bind their fate to the fate of Tenthis itself.
Amidst the chaos of battle and the machinations of gods, Jorin’s journey becomes a crucible of courage and determination. With the fate of worlds hanging in the balance, he must confront the demons of his past and embrace the true nature of his destiny.
The echoes of Jorin’s choices resonate through the tapestry of time, shaping the course of events in ways he could never have imagined. As heroes rise and alliances are tested, Jorin’s quest becomes a beacon of hope in a world consumed by darkness.
Price will go up after release so get it while it is discounted.
Watch this epic little trailer!
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=MSDljLm-YSA&t=20sHere is an excerpt of Echoes of the Darsfiëre for your enjoyment.
A big bruise spread across his left ribcage, grey-purple and sore to the touch. Calmantis was sure they had cracked or broken at least one of them. Then again, he had never been able to withstand pain as well as he would have liked. He dropped his shirt and softly caressed the wound, wincing.
The cold floor brushed his bare feet where he walked towards the narrow window in the wall, a ray of dying light warming his numb fingers as he wrapped them around the bars. I should be proud! he thought, clenching his jaw. What I did could possibly save the entire world, and that of the gods. He was sure he should have felt great about what he had done, yet there was something that just didn’t feel like he had won in the end. Oh, wake up, Calmantis! You were used, like always! You were expendable . . . He dropped his head against the cool iron between his hands, the momentary pain of the hit a grim reminder of what Ostarra wanted to do with him.
It had been nearly ten days since the night Ostarra had hunted him. Ten days of nothing but deliberation on both parties’ sides. His circumspect behaviour, and his unwillingness to be manipulated again, resulted in a stalemate that granted neither any benefit. He knew he was being a stumbling block.
Fear was not his concern, and neither was dying – although the thought of his last breath escaping him was a very disconcerting one. No, it was the thought of failure that haunted him. A deep-seated fear that he would never be good enough as a person on his own. That he should have listened to his mother and father and joined them in the business they created. The legacy they carved.
He opened his eyes to a shuddering breath released from his lips and took in the beautiful surroundings he could see of Yelavantia. Elaborate bridges of intertwined vines and delicate crystal tracery spanned great chasms, connecting terraced gardens where vibrant flora cascaded in riotous blooms next to the crystalline waters. Here and there, towering spires of quartz stood as a monument of their capable engineering. Calmantis had marvelled at those buildings at nighttime, when an iridescent glow from the moon and stars reflected from the surfaces, bathing the entire city in its glory.
Looking at the wondrous place he found himself jailed in, he could not help but think that this was what he hoped the gods’ realm would be. What would the Shadow Guard do? Calmantis burst out laughing, a pained shudder leaving him clutching his ribs. They would have no idea what to do . . . This is new territory, for daresay anyone. In all honesty, they would probably leave her there to her fate. They would not risk the wrath of the gods. Especially not that of Aztar. They would be stripped of their rank from the Order, branded as heretics, and imprisoned for even suggesting such a thing as what the Sidhe want me to do. I can see it now, heads rolling from the guillotine, citizens shouting and laughing.
He shuddered at the thought and stepped away from the window, chains rustling around his ankles. A short, shuffled walk back to his pallet then, trying to keep his mind numb to all that was happening. He thought back to the very first time Tay’la had walked through the door, cringing at the memory . . .
Calmantis had awakened with a throbbing head, mind foggy and slow, eyes unwilling to focus, a sharp, spicy smell burning his nostrils. Blurry faces had surrounded him, crowded in close, only to jump back when his eyes fluttered open, groans of pain and indignation leaving him.
‘You will pay for this,’ he drawled, a long string of drool reaching for the ground from his mouth, where he stood propped up by a device of ornate steel, a flurry of symbols emblazoned on its shiny surface. His head and hands were locked in the device, same as he’d seen criminals in Baldor secured in the pillories, people hurling rotten fruit and insults at them. ‘Do you know who I am?’ he mumbled, and for a moment, he wished they could tell him. His memories were a mess. He wasn’t sure where he was, who he was, or why he was there to begin with.
Faces blended and merged, their clothing a dizzying array of colours and patterns coming into sharp focus. A silver-haired female Sidhe stood before him, face set in a scowl, brows stern. She handed a small sachet over to a younger female on her right and gestured for her to leave. Gradually the air became more tolerable, the pungent smell slowly drifting away from the area. Calmantis’s head reeled. Groups congregated all around, some in silence, some whispering to others, their voices filling the chamber with a low buzz.
‘What are you?’ the silver-haired woman asked, arms crossed, tapping her middle finger on her arm impatiently.
‘Wha . . .’ Calmantis mumbled confusedly, turning his head to look around. A vast hall with towering archways carved from gleaming quartz reflected glints of the sun piercing through the high windows, intricate vine motifs chiselled into the stonework. High above was a vaulted dome ceiling that seemed to stretch to infinity, lending a sense of boundless space to the chamber. Tapestries adorned the wall that seemed to come alive when an observer approached. It was a unique chamber, something he had never seen before. But the most impressive was the enormous tree in the middle, where crystalline pools reflected the sparkling sun, arranged in a circular pattern around the tree.
‘Your mind is muddled. It seems you are weaker than we thought. They assured me they did not hit you very hard.’ She turned to another Sidhe, a male standing some distance away, glaring at him for some time. Calmantis sensed how the man squirmed beneath her stare. When she turned back to him, she continued, ‘I am Thasalla Maelis, the Sylvan Sovereign. Adjudicator, arbiter, mother, matriarch. These are all titles by which I am known.’
Thasalla stepped closer, her soft footfalls a drum beat in Calmantis’s ears. Nothing else stirred. ‘I ask again. What are you?’
What am I? Memories of his recent adventure with the god Ostarra came rushing back to him. ‘I am a Voidwalker . . . and I shall take my leave.’ He had no desire to be kept caged any longer than was necessary. Calmantis reached out to touch the curtains of the world and draw them back, hoping to step through and disappear from this realm and make good his escape. A fierce jolt ran through his spine, a charge like a lightning bolt coursing through his bones, twisting his limbs and body. Spasmodically, he thrust out his pelvis, slamming his hip bone against the device, and nearly lost all control of his bladder. All around him, the Sidhe leapt back in fear, angry scowls on their faces.
‘You shall do no such thing,’ Thasalla said, a smirk on her elegant, regal, old face. ‘You have been bound to this world until I say otherwise.’ Anxious, a bead of sweat formed on Calmantis’s brow. ‘Bring in the girl,’ the Sylvan Sovereign called to a guard stationed near a gigantic door that glimmered in the light. For its magnanimous size, it opened at a touch, latches falling away with loud, echoed voices, scraping the inside of Calmantis’s skull.
It was an odd method of interrogation, bringing a child in to talk to him. She must be a sorceress or something even more powerful. Maybe it’s a calling card, or a nickname they gave her, he thought, lifting his head as far as he could, stretching his eyes wide to see what would appear. To his somewhat disappointment, a regular little Sidhe girl strolled into the chamber, frail, thin arms, as pale as the moon pendant held near to her chest, freckles lining her nose. Eyes wide in fear, she approached Thasalla with caution, who held out her hand with a loving smile. ‘It’s okay, Tay’la. He can’t hurt you.’
‘I would never hurt a child!’ Calmantis shouted. ‘I’ve never hurt anyone! Well, physically, that is. But they could always recover from a bit of lost coin. Let me go! This is a mistake.’ Thasalla gestured to the two men at her side, and they marched closer, determined, angry. They took up positions on either side of Calmantis, their presence stirring a sense of foreboding through his veins.
The crowds were hushed as the girl slowly approached him, their eyes locked on each other. ‘We will talk, you and I. See what you have done,’ the girl said in barely a whisper. Rough hands grabbed him and the device and hauled him up, dragging his feet across the pristine floor towards the pools. Kicking and screaming, Calmantis’s nerves were frayed. Were they about to drown him in these magnificent pools? ‘Please! No! Let me go!’ he shouted.
A beating of drums started, joined by others hitting the butts of travel canes on the floor in rhythmic unison. A group of ten Sidhe, men and women, formed a circle before one pool on their knees, the girl waiting in the centre, trembling, lip quivering. Thasalla initiated a melodic chant, which the ten in the circle took up, their humming voices beating against Calmantis’s sanity. Handled without care, he and the device were dropped in front of the gathering.
The chant grew in pace; the ten Sidhe’s upper bodies were in constant motion, chests swelling, shoulders shaking. On and on they droned, until a shimmering thread came into being in the palm of their hands, little Tay’la included where she still sat in the centre. Another chant started up from Thasalla, different from the ones of the ten, making it hard for Calmantis to focus on anything. He had never been good at listening, not to mention when there were too many noises, his mind very adept at blocking out what he could not follow.
The Sylvan Sovereign walked around the group, chanting, sweeping her hands back and forth over their shimmering threads, each time taking a little more, weaving together an ethereal tapestry of energies, with Tay’la at the centre of it all. It was taking a long time, and Calmantis’s legs were growing tired, the muscles spasming, not being able to stand up fully. The splendorous moon and stars replaced the glimmering rays of the sun, yet their voices never seemed to grow tired or lose track of the chant. Threads dwindled from their hands into the magic tapestry, and finally, Thasalla guided Tay’la towards the pool.
Eager to see what was happening, Calmantis craned his head until the sharp edge of the device dug into the back of his neck. The chanting softened, and Tay’la’s voice echoed over the water, merging with the magic in the air. ‘Liin röyt touo, maas pei na ke, tortiirva. Hy köi mä nä pat nuis ral.’ Even though he did not know Sielish, he heard the words spoken in his head. Across the Fold, I call to you, Sister Tirveeä. Let me be your guide back home.
Thasalla worked her hands on the near invisible threads, binding them together, and leaned over the pool, whispering under her breath. The moon’s light danced on the surface of the water, sparkling with Tay’la’s reflection within. Calm and docile, the surface quickly changed to one of contempt, bubbling and boiling, steam rising to waft over Tay’la’s young face, waving her silver hair back. Tay’la’s visage turned ethereal, her features changing, the surrounding quartz walls behind her shifting to that of darkness. In that gloom Tirveeä emerged, slamming her fist against the surface of the water to break through to the mortal realm, the hit shaking the walls of the hall, yet the water did not allow her.
Thasalla jumped back, and with the help of the other ten, they weaved the threads together, intertwining them to resonate like a symphony of magic and nature. Tay’la placed her hand upon the water’s surface, and so did Tirveeä, their minds melding, their thoughts merging. ‘Thank you, Sister, for doing this.’ Tirveeä’s words echoed through the minds of the participants.
Tay’la started screaming, her hand drifting away from the boiling water until Thasalla gripped her shoulders reassuringly, rubbing her arms while guiding her through the pain. The threads of energy converged, funnelling through the young girl Tay’la, coursing through her small body and into the pool, enveloping Tirveeä on the other side while the chanting continued, sealing the connection between the two.
Once-calm water now danced as waves in a storm, as if the girl’s screams were the driving force. Calmantis’s ears rung and ached, yet he could not look away. One by one, the pools exploded up in a steaming spray, causing those closest to leap away in fear of getting burnt.
The violent display settled, shocked faces all around, staring at each other, wiping the water from their clothes and faces. Near the edge of the pool, Thasalla stood hunched over the girl, frantically trying to get her to breathe. ‘Come on, child! Not like this! I beg the Eldertree. Give her breath!’ A short, sluggish gurgle sounded, and Tay’la drew a ragged breath of air.
Expressionless, she lay there, and said in a new voice, Tirveeä’s voice, ‘Being hunted . . . Need to get home soon. This is not our world.’ Tay’la’s body spasmed, her neck twitching, and suddenly her fearful eyes returned. Instantly tears flowed from them.
‘I want to go home.’
Thasalla helped her up and said, ‘And so you shall, child. Take her to her room and tend to her wounds.’ One guard stepped forth and scooped the girl from the ground with ease, striding past Calmantis with not so much as a look.
Here, now, back in the gaol, Calmantis cleared his mind of the memory and took a shuddering breath. He lay down on his pallet and closed his eyes.
December 16, 2023
Happy Holidays Everyone!
It is that time of year again. And yes, I can't believe it either. Where has the year gone? One minute I'm still writing my novel, the next I'm being told to go buy gifts... Don't get me wrong, I love Christmas. It is one of my most favourite times of the year. I just wished I could get my new novel out to all of you before the year ended. Unfortunately, that will not happen, and it saddens me deeply.
Saying that, I do have some news.
BOOK 2 of The Stormfall Cycle is COMPLETE! It still has some way to go with editing and cover design work, which is starting in January, but it is nearing finalisation. Weighing in at just over 130 000 words, it is sure to keep you all entertained for a while.
Now, it being the time of giving, I thought I'd share an unedited early version of an excerpt of Book 2. Please be aware that this might change from now until release day.
A big bruise spread across his left rib-cage, grey-purple and sore to the touch. Calmantis was sure they had cracked or broken at least one of them. Then again, he had never been able to withstand pain as well as he would have liked. He dropped his shirt and softly caressed the wound, wincing at the touch.
Cold floor brushed his bare feet where he walked towards the narrow window in the wall, a ray of dying light warming his numb fingers as he wrapped them around the bars. I should be proud! he thought, clenching his jaw. What I did could possibly save the entire world, and that of the gods. He was sure he should have felt great about what he had done, yet there was something that just didn’t feel like he had won in the end. Oh, wake up, Calmantis! You were used, like always! You were expendable . . . He dropped his head against the cool iron between his hands, the momentary pain of the hit – a little too hard for his liking – a grim reminder of what Ostarra wanted to do with him.
It had been nearly ten days since the night Ostarra had hunted him. Ten days of nothing but deliberation on both parties’ side. His circumspect behaviour, and his unwillingness to be manipulated again, resulted in a stalemate that granted neither any benefit. He knew he was being a stumbling block.
Fear was not his concern, and neither was dying – although the thought of his last breath escaping him was a very disconcerting one. No, it was the thought of failure that haunted him. A deep-seated fear that he would never be good enough as a person on his own. That he should have listened to his mother and father, and joined them in the business they created. The legacy they carved.
He opened his eyes to a shuddering breath released from his lips and took in the beautiful surroundings he could see of Yelavantia. Elaborate bridges of intertwined vines and delicate crystal tracery spanned great chasms, connecting terraced gardens where vibrant flora cascaded in riotous blooms next to the crystalline waters. Here and there, towering spires of quartz stood as a monument of their capable engineering. Calmantis had marvelled at those buildings at night time, when an iridescent glow from the moon and stars reflected from the surfaces, bathing the entire city in its glory.
Looking at the wondrous place he found himself jailed in, he could not help but think that this was what he hoped the gods’ realm would be. What would the Shadow Guard do? Calmantis burst out laughing, a pained shudder leaving him where he clutched his ribs. They would have no idea what to do . . . This is new territory, for daresay anyone. In all honesty, they would probably leave her there to her fate. They would not risk the wrath of the gods. Especially not that of Aztar. They would be stripped of their rank from the Order, branded as heretics, and imprisoned for even suggesting such a thing as they want me to do. I can see it now, heads rolling from the guillotine, citizens shouting and laughing.
He shuddered at the thought, and stepped away from the window, chains rustling around his ankles. A short shuffled walk back to his pallet then, trying to keep his mind numb to all that was happening. He thought back to the very first time Tay’la had walked through the door, cringing at the memory . . .
Calmantis had awakened with a throbbing head, mind foggy and slow, eyes unwilling to focus, a sharp, spicy smell burning his nostrils. Blurry faces had surrounded him, crowded in close, only to jump back when his eyes fluttered open, groans of pain and indignation leaving him. ‘You will pay for this,’ he drawled, a long string of drool reaching for the ground from his mouth, where he stood propped up by a device of ornate steel, a flurry of symbols emblazoned on its shiny surface. His head and hands were locked in the device, same as he’d seen criminals in Baldor secured in the pillories, people hurling rotten fruit and insults at them. ‘Do you know who I am?’ he mumbled, and for a moment, he wished they could tell him. His memories were a mess. He wasn’t sure where he was, who he was, or why he was there to begin with.
Faces blended and merged, their clothing a dizzying array of colours and patterns coming into sharp focus. A silver-haired female Sidhe stood before him, face set in a scowl, brows stern. She handed a small sachet over to a younger female on her right and gestured her to leave. Gradually the air became more tolerable, the pungent smell slowly drifting away from the area. Calmantis’s head reeled. Groups congregated all around, some in silence, some whispering to others, their voices filling the chamber with a low buzz.
‘What are you?’ The silver-haired woman asked, arms crossed, tapping her middle finger on her arm impatiently.
‘Wha . . .’ Calmantis mumbled confusedly, turning his head to look around. A vast hall with towering archways carved from gleaming quartz reflected glints of the sun piercing through the high windows, intricate vine motifs chiselled into the stonework. High above a vaulted dome ceiling that seemed to stretch to infinity, lending a sense of boundless space to the chamber. Tapestries adorned the wall that seemed to come alive when an observer approached. It was a unique chamber. Something he had never seen before, but the most impressive, was the enormous tree in the middle, where crystalline pools reflected the sparkling sun, arranged in a circular pattern around the tree.
‘Your mind is muddled. It seems you are weaker than we thought. They assured me they did not hit you very hard.’ She turned to another Sidhe, a male standing some distance away, glaring at him for some time. Calmantis sensed how the man squirmed beneath her stare. When she turned back to him, she continued, ‘I am Thasalla Maelis, the Sylvan Sovereign. Adjudicator, arbiter, mother, matriarch. These are all titles I am known by.’
Thasalla stepped closer, her soft footfalls a drum beat in Calmantis’s ears. Nothing else stirred. ‘I ask again. What are you?’
What am I? Memories of his recent adventure with the god Ostarra came rushing back to him. ‘I am a Voidwalker . . . and I shall take my leave.’ He had no want to be kept caged any longer than was necessary. Calmantis reached out to touch the curtains of the world, and draw them, hoping to step through and disappear from this realm and make good his escape. A fierce jolt ran through his spine, a charge like a lightning bolt coursing through his bones, twisting his limbs and body. Spasmodically, he thrust out his pelvis, slamming his hip bone against the device, and nearly lost all control of his bladder. All around him, the Sidhe leapt back in fear, angry scowls on their faces.
‘You shall do no such thing,’ Thasalla said, a smirk on her elegant, old face. ‘You have been bound to this world until I say otherwise.’ Anxious, a bead of sweat formed on Calmantis’s brow. ‘Bring in the girl,’ the Sylvan Sovereign called to a guard stationed near a gigantic door that glimmered in the light. For its magnanimous size, it opened at a touch, latches falling away with loud, echoed voices, scraping the inside of Calmantis’s skull.
It was an odd method of interrogation, bringing a child in to talk to him. She must be a sorceress or something even more powerful. Maybe it’s a calling card, or a nickname they gave her, he thought, lifting his head as far as he could, stretching his eyes wide to see what would appear. To his somewhat disappointment, a regular little Sidhe girl strolled into the chamber, frail, thin arms, as pale as the moon pendant held near to her chest, freckles lining her nose. Eyes wide in fear, she approached with caution towards Thasalla, who held out her hand with a loving smile. ‘It’s okay, dear. He can’t hurt you.’
‘I would never hurt a child!’ Calmantis shouted. ‘I’ve never hurt anyone! Well, physically, that is. But they could always recover from a bit of lost coin. Let me go! This is a mistake.’ Thasalla gestured to the two men at her side, and they marched closer, determined, angry. They took up positions on either side of Calmantis, their presence stirring a sense of foreboding through his veins.
The crowds were hushed as the girl slowly approached him, their eyes locked on each other. ‘We will talk, you and I. See what you have done,’ the girl said in barely a whisper. Rough hands grabbed him with the device and hauled him up, dragging his feet across the pristine floor towards the pools. Kicking and screaming, Calmantis’s nerves were frayed. Were they about to drown him in these magnificent pools?
A beating of drums started, joined by others hitting the butts of travel canes on the floor in rhythmic unison. A group of ten Sidhe, men and women, formed a circle before one pool on their knees, the girl waiting in the centre, trembling, lip quivering. Thasalla initiated a melodic chant, which the ten in the circle took up, their humming voices beating against Calmantis’s sanity.
The chant grew in pace; the ten Sidhe’s upper bodies were in constant movement, chests swelling, shoulders shaking. On and on they droned, until a shimmering thread came into being in the palm of their hands, little Tay’la included where she still sat in the centre. Another chant started up from Thasalla, different from the ones of the ten, making it hard for Calmantis to focus on anything. He had never been good at listening, not to mention when there were too many noises, his mind very adapt at blocking out what he could not follow.
The Sylvan Sovereign walked around the group, chanting, sweeping her hands back and forth over their shimmering threads, each time taking a little more, weaving together an ethereal tapestry of energies, with Tay’la at the centre of it all. It was taking a long time, and Calmantis’s legs were growing tired, the muscles spasming, not being able to stand up fully. The splendorous moon and stars replaced the glimmering rays of the sun, yet their voices never seemed to grow tired, or lose track of the chant. Threads dwindled from their hands into the magic tapestry, and finally Thasalla guided Tay’la towards the pool.
Eager to see what was happening, Calmantis craned his head until the sharp edge of the device dug into the back of his neck. The chanting softened, and Tay’la’s voice echoed over the water, merging with the magic in the air. ‘Liin röyt touo, maas pei na ke, tortiirva. Hy köi mä nä pat nuis ral.’ Even though he did not know Sielish, he heard the words spoken in his head. Across the Fold, I call to you, sister. Let me be your guide back home.
Thasalla worked her hands on the invisible threads, binding them together, and leaned over the pool, whispering under her breath. The moon’s light danced on the surface of the water, sparkling with Tay’la’s reflection within. Calm and docile, the surface quickly changed to one of contempt, bubbling and boiling, steam rising to waft over Tay’la’s young face, waving her silver hair back. Tay’la’s visage turned ethereal, her features changing, the surrounding quartz walls behind her shifting to that of darkness. In that gloom Tirveeä emerged, slamming her fist against the surface of the water to break through to the mortal realm, yet the water did not allow her.
Thasalla jumped back, and with the help of the other ten, they weaved the threads together, intertwining them to resonate like a symphony of magic and nature. Tay’la placed her hand upon the water’s surface, and so did Tirveeä, their minds melding, their thoughts merging. ‘Thank you, sister, for doing this.’ Tirveeä’s words echoed through the minds of the participants.
Tay’la started screaming, her hand drifting away from the boiling water until Thasalla gripped her shoulders re-affirmingly, rubbing her arms while guiding her through the pain. The threads of energy converged, funnelling through the young girl Tay’la, coursing through her small body and into the pool, enveloping Tirveeä on the other side while the chanting continued, sealing the connection between the two.
Once-calm water now danced as waves in a storm, as if the girl’s screams were the driving force. Calmantis’s ears rung and ached, yet he could not look away. One by one, the pools exploded up in a steaming spray, causing havoc to those closest, who leapt away in fear of getting burnt.
The violent display settled, shocked faces all around, staring at each other, wiping the water from their clothes and faces. Near the edge of the pool, Thasalla stood hunched over the girl, frantically trying to get her to breathe. ‘Come on, child! Not like this! I beg the Eldertrees. Give her breath!’ A short, sluggish gurgle sounded, and Tay’la drew a ragged breath of air.
Expressionless, she lay there, and said, in a new voice, Tirveeä’s voice, ‘Being hunted . . . Need to get home soon. This is not our world.’ Tay’la’s body spasmed, her neck twitching, and suddenly her fearful eyes returned. Instantly tears flowed from them.
‘I want to go home.’
Thasalla helped her up, and said, ‘And so you shall, child. Take her to her room and tend to her wounds.’ One guard stepped forth and scooped the girl from the ground with ease, striding past Calmantis with not so much as a look.
Here, now, back in the gaol, Calmantis cleared his mind of the memory and took a shuddering breath. He lay down on his pallet and closed his eyes.
If you want to read further, you will have to wait for the release unfortunately. Luckily that won't be too long from now.
And if you made it all the way through the excerpt, I hope you enjoyed the small piece. And thank you for reading my work.
Please enjoy this festive season, and let's be kind to all our fellow humans and pets. Be safe out there.
Merry Christmas and a Happy New Year!
See you in 2024 where the adventures awaits us all anew.
Copyright © 2023 Marius H. Visser
September 14, 2023
September 2023 Update and Excerpt
September is here and swiftly moving along, before we blink, the year will be gone. I did not even mean for that to rhyme, but who ever said that was a crime? Oops, I did it again . . .
Okay, I'm done, I promise.
Some of you know by now that the new series The Stormfall Cycle is out in the world with The Way of the Walker as book one. Now I am already getting emails asking when book two will come out, which I absolutely love! You thought I was about to complain, weren't you?
Honestly, though, I love being asked when the next book will come out as that gives me the motivation to push to get it done. I am already finished with chapter six and the story is taking shape.
If you don't know, authors are basically split between 3 camps, Plotters, Pantsers, and Hybrids. I have always fallen squarely in the Pantser camp, but am now trying more of a hybrid approach for this series.
To give you more context:
* Pantser sits down and starts writing a story with absolutely no idea what is going to happen. The story unfolds for the writer as much as it does for the reader. This method does tend to have a bit more cleanup involved after a novel is written, especially if it is a series.
* Plotters are on the other side of the scale, they design the entire plot, character arcs, story arcs, conflict, world-building, elements, and every other little thing that goes into a story beforehand, then they write the story, and they stick to that, leaving little wiggle room.
* Hybrids, well they plan and do most/a fair chunk of the work beforehand but when they start writing they kind of veer off course sometimes, becoming Pantsers, but they always have that plan to fall back on if things go bad . . . Some stay the course, and good for them.
I have done significant plotting for this series beforehand, from background lore that will never make it into the series, to what will happen at the very end of the series. I have thought about who will not make it to the end, to who will find "peace". Where conflict will arise and what tropes to add. I'll tell you one thing, it is a struggle keeping these characters on the straight and narrow.
Anyway, besides this very interesting tidbit of a writer's life (I'm sure), I wanted to leave you with a short excerpt of The Way of the Walker, introducing Bellard to you all. Enjoy.
Excerpt of The Way of the Walker
Kunia, Academy of the Arcane, school for the gifted, had been the subject of many controversial discussions in the North over the years. The women had it easier when it came to the subject of magic, for they were doing more than was expected of them, serving the country by becoming mages, druids, wizards, healers, and herbalists. But the North expected men to be warriors, hunters, providers, protectors. They were supposed to be strong and brave in the face of danger, willing to give their lives for others to live, not become figures of obscurity.
After eighteen long years in Forgeholde, Bellard had been ready, and excited, to leave for Kunia. It had been nearly a year now since he joined the academy, and their graduation to continue to the second year was close at hand. For all the patient waiting they had forced him to endure, studying day and night, he couldn’t wait to hold his very own isolation crystal in his hands, his very own Pillar.
He wondered what his Pillar would look like, what colour it would be. Cracked and dull? Bright and clear? Would he wear it as a necklace or a ring? A bracelet, perhaps, as he had seen other students on the grounds of the academy wear theirs, while some wore it as earrings, all dependent on many factors. Some he had seen glittered brightly in the sun, while others were dull green, or ruby red, even dark as night. Only time would tell what his would be.
Until now, the masters of the academy had trained all the first-years on the theoretical way to use their gifts without actually being able to harm anyone by mistake, banning any use of magic without the guidance of an isolation crystal. Soon, though, they would venture to the Sacred Hall of the Usha, where their Pillars awaited them. With the isolation crystal, they would create real magic, form a power within themselves, isolated by the crystal to guide it outwards.
The year before, Bellard’s power had come to him in the form of a crow knocking its long, sharp beak against his window during a bout of icy rain pattering on the roof. It had cawed and squawked, turning and twisting its head. Its beady black eyes followed Bellard as he rose from his bed and made his way over to the ice-streaked window. Time froze as they stared at each other, feeling a deep connection form between them. One that some would say had always been there, unrecognisable until the day of their awakening, when it blossomed, ever growing until they claimed their Pillar, blooming into existence. It was then that they would realise their power.
He had never been like the other kids in Forgeholde. He had a fascination with the workings of the world, a keen sense of morality and a deep understanding of his own mortality, always erring on the side of caution. Other boys did not seem to accept his way of thinking, though, calling him a coward and a mule. Every day they would mock him, throw stones at him, chase him with sticks and beat his back bloody. Shout vulgarities and make fun of him. And for all the love he had for Gallus, his best friend for as long as he could remember, he grew tired of him always stepping in to protect him.
Little did Bellard know he would soon welcome his transformation, his acceptance of the power of the world and the mystical arts that now coursed through his veins. He had opened that window, and the black bird swooped into the room, settling to the floor before morphing into an ephemeral vision of the bearer, a plague of persistence seeping into his very pores, enshrouding him with the promise of power at his fingertips. He could feel his own potential so close to the surface yet was just unable to breach that final layer. From that day on, the dreams of the Usha hounded him, and they hounded him still, waiting for the Pillar to ground them in place.
But until he claimed his Pillar, gifted by the mystical Usha, he would need to complete the year of studies after an already long and challenging semester, before going on a much-deserved break.
July 18, 2023
Early Release! The Way of the Walker.
Originally slated for an August 1st 2023 release, it will come as a shock and surprise that we have released it TODAY! Yes, the 19th of July! Head to the store now, and get your copy if you haven't already. I appreciate all reviews left, so please don't forget to let other like-minded readers know why you enjoyed The Way of the Walker. Here is a small excerpt (the prologue) from The Way of the Walker for your enjoyment.
Jonas dug his fingers into the cool, moist dirt, snapping the thin roots of young plants, and an earthy smell graced his nose. Long breath in, eyes closed, he sucked in the smell, feeling his heart beat deep in his chest. How was it he could be so lucky? He cupped a mound of dirt in his hands and watched a worm curse at him, wriggling around, annoyed at being removed from the earth. He grinned at the worm’s anger and placed the soil back in the hole he’d dug. ‘There you go, little fella,’ came his gruff voice. ‘No need to haunt my dreams tonight.’
He rose with a smile on his face, lightened by the fresh scents around him, taking it all in. Pink flowers with a spicy, clove-like scent, red lilies with a sharp, sweet smell, and so many more filled the air. The soft drizzle of morning dew dropped from leaves up high, wetting his hair, and he sneezed again, like he had done so many times this morning. It might have smelled great, but like his father used to say, ‘Everything has a price, my boy.’ The various scents irritated his nose greatly, yet he still kept a smile on his face. There were worse things in the world.
The crisp early-morning air left a trail of mist covering the mountains and valley, the forest looking serene and untouched. Moisture in the air wet the rims of his nostrils, forming droplets at the tip, causing him to sniff incessantly. How many times had he walked these mountains, sat on logs and rocks, thinking about his past? Thinking about what he’d done. Wondering if he really deserved to be here in this blessed place called Barren Hollows. He had left the North with nothing but the clothes on his back and a tarnished reputation, and the people here took him in, no questions asked.
He was a man broken by the greed and ambition of others who preyed on his skill and abilities. Young and stupid, he had loved the attention it got him at first, the women he had, the men following his every order, but what they’d done . . . All to empower the name of his employer, the adavey, leader of the eastern Northlands.
The people of Barren Hollows had given him a purpose to live again, given him hope when he met Ayla, and just like that, the rest was history. They had fallen madly in love, and from that love came Jorin, a reminder for him to be a better man.
‘Papa!’ called a squeaky voice behind him. Jonas turned around, instantly having to stick out his arms and catch the small body sailing through the air towards him, crashing into him and driving him back.
‘Jorin, you crazy little monkey! What are you doing all the way out here?’ he asked, finding his footing. An owl hooted from a tree on their right, and Jorin imitated it, hooting loudly in Jonas’s ears. ‘It seems we be eating owl tonight!’ Jonas said and hefted the boy, cradling him in his arms and digging his face into his little stomach, growling as he blew onto the soft skin with his lips. The loud farting flaps reverberated through the forest, stirring a commotion in the trees, branches cracking, leaves rustling. ‘It seems the owl had enough,’ Jonas said as he stared at the big-winged bird flapping to get away from them. He set the boy down and took up his axe.
‘I’m not alone, Papa. Mama is here too.’
‘And dead tired from the slog up here,’ she said, the hem of her dress in hand while she climbed over fallen logs and rocks, ferns and small bushes brushing against her legs. ‘Why did you have to walk so far for a tree? There are plenty closer to home.’
‘But then I wouldn’t have had this view,’ Jonas said, gesturing behind him to the lake at the bottom of the valley, shrouded by the mist, a dark blue patch in a sea of green. She drew him in close and kissed him, her soft red lips wet and cool.
‘Papa! Let’s go swimming!’ Jorin’s wild brown hair bounced and flopped as he dashed over the rocks through the forest, running down the side of the mountain.
‘Jorin! No, wait. You could get hurt!’ But the boy didn’t listen and giggled instead as he scrammed away from them. Jonas turned and ran after Jorin, with Ayla following behind. Steep cliffs and drop-offs rode the side of the mountain, with enormous, sharp boulders waiting for a fool to tumble down, breaking legs and worse. He lost sight of the boy for a moment and scanned the declivous forest, glimpsing a red-and-black jerkin through the stands of thick trees. ‘Jorin!’ He heard the boy’s laughter bounce between the trees.
‘You can’t catch me,’ sang the squeaky voice, disappearing from his sight again.
‘Jorin, stop this!’ Ayla shouted behind him.
Heart racing, alarms going off in his head, Jonas sprinted down the side of the mountain and stepped on a loose rock, twisting his ankle. He went down in a hail of dust and leaves, crashing through brush and dirt, dropping his axe somewhere along the way. Dirt and gravel shot into his right eye, the coarse matter grinding harshly, forcing him to close it. ‘Argh!’ he groaned and jumped back up, searching for the boy with his left eye. The woods were a dangerous place for a lone boy to run around in. Bears, snakes, apes, and jaguars prowled these woods, and a small, easy meal was something they wouldn’t readily let go.
Twigs cracked to their right, and an urgent scream followed, setting his heart on fire. ‘Jorin? Papa’s coming!’ His loss of depth perception made him unbalanced, causing some things to appear further away than they were and others closer than they were, messing with his head. He stumbled along, feet getting hooked on stumps he’d seen as far away, nearly going down again. ‘Jorin, where are you?’
‘Here, Papa!’ screamed the terrified voice near to them, and he stopped to scan the area. The ground dropped away from them on their left, and then he saw his boy. Jorin hung by the tips of his fingers clutched to a mass of twisted roots crawling across the side of a tremendous boulder, legs kicking air and eyes wide as saucers. ‘Hurry!’ he cried, ‘Papa! Help me!’
Jonas ran across the top of the boulder and went to his knees, skinning them on the rough surface, breath caught in his throat. The quicker he breathed, the less air made it to his lungs, dark spots enveloping his vision. He reached down to his boy, leaning over the boulder as far as he dared, seeing the menacing rocks far below, just waiting to claim this little body for their own, and he shouted, ‘Grab my hand!’ It wasn’t long before Ayla arrived at his side, screaming and crying at the possible fate they had found themselves in. Seeing the fear in her eyes, he called again, ‘You can do it, boy! Grab my hand!’
Jonas started slipping over the side and felt Ayla grab his legs to pin him down, giving him a little more length to worm down. He was so close now, but he could see Jorin growing tired, his tiny hands trembling from exhaustion and fear. ‘You’re all right, lad. Just take my hand,’ he said calmly. Tears welled in his eye. ‘Don’t let go now, you hear me?’ They locked eyes for an instant, and the tiny hands slipped away from him. ‘No! No! Jorin! No!’ His heart stopped beating for a moment while he screamed and cried, watching his boy fall.
This never happened! He never ran from us. I know this memory. This is a dream!
Jonas woke to a blaze of heat surrounding him, his body bruised and in pain. Blood seeped from wounds on his side and arm, black marks staining him all over. His head pounded, and his sight blurred, the unmistakable feeling of old iron bars pressing against his back a hard thing to forget. Fires raged all over in the cavernous dungeon, and in the distance sat a beast on its throne, eyeing him with contempt.
Just a dream then, he thought and closed his eyes again.
June 24, 2023
Yes, look at it and weep pitiful mortals!
Just kidding, just kidding, I'm not immortal. Not yet anyway . . . It's really tough to grow the right beans.
I've spent the last six months getting this novel done, and it is now so close to being finished. The first round of edits is done and dusted, and the second round is underway. If all goes well, I will get the book back from the editor in the next week or so. This means I can have it done by the end of this month.
So yes, I am looking at a release date at the end of July, maybe the beginning of August.
I can't believe that it is time for another release, especially for this novel, or series, I might say, as this stems from a short story I wrote nearly twelve years ago now. Yes, that's right! The Call of Jonas Creed was originally written as part of a writer's course I did. I was told it was way too violent, and fast-paced, and so I stretched it out some. Yes . . . The novella is the stretched-out version. So after the original writing of it, I filed it away and left it simmering for a long time, for an eventual day when I had a story baking that would blossom into a full-blown series. And that time has finally come. And it all begins with The Way of the Walker! Well, not true, as it all began with The Call of Jonas Creed, but semantics.
I have created a new world, Mayanore, where I have infused a sort of Greek Mythos into the realm. The world of man is separated from Tenthis, the realm of the gods, by a thinning Fold, a barrier that no man can cross, except for the Voidwalker . . . There is a lot of action and adventure to be had in this novel already, with great storms, furious battles, monsters, and gods waiting to grab you by your fantasy whiskers to draw you in.
Be ready for the next adventure!
The Stormfall Cycle is coming soon!
December 23, 2022
Christmas Time Is Here!
May you all have a wonderful Christmas and a happy new year! Take care of yourselves during this festive period and stay safe on the roads.
October 17, 2022
October, the Month of Giveaways and Promos
This month is going to be a doozy. This month's big news is obviously the release of Warlock's path, The Dragon Wars Saga Volume Three on the 25th of this month. Although, some eagle-eyed scouts have noticed that the print books are already on sale. Yes, you heard me... I have made the print books available here. The series is at an end... Where do we go from here? Well, someone told me, it might not be the end for some of the characters in this series. I guess you will just have to read it and make some assumptions. Wink wink.
Dragon’s breath is best left unclaimed…The twisted mind of King Turneroth takes his forces north, hundreds of dragons at his call. Soon they will stand before New Runswick, the capital of Elmohria, demanding their ultimate surrender. Ladriana sits alone on her throne, awaiting the city’s impending doom.Plagued by gigantic wyrms, Abru Noxel is slowly dying, its life sucked from within. The Ageians’ world is turning into a barren wasteland. Garidan has the answers to their problems, but he needs the help of an old acquaintance to solve them.Elmohria’s salvation appears in the shape of a Balamuth lost ages ago. Found in the depths of Abru Noxel, Garidan hands it to the warlock. All Khanaseri has to do now is find the host for the imprisoned beast. The only problem is, the host died a long time ago…Warlock’s Path is the conclusion to the Dragon Wars Saga: an epic fantasy series that spans worlds and time. Buy now to be part of the adventure.
Get Daughter of the Ageian for only 0.99¢ here and King's Plight for only 2.99¢ here. For a limited time only.
For now, though, I will be working on the new series with the Voidwalker as the MC. The Call of Jonas Creed has opened up a new world with an epic adventure awaiting. Get it here, by subscribing.
Btw, I have also decided to make it a small print for those that just have to have the physical copy, like me. The paperback edition of The Call of Jonas Creed is available here.
Heroes may be forged in fire...
Legends speak of a shadow realm that echoes our own, called the Void, where gods and demons roam the very paths we mortals tread, hidden from our sight and touch, judging us at our worst moments, laughing at our woes.
The Void is inaccessible to all still living save those blessed, or perhaps cursed, with the means to cross between realms. The lands of the gods are not to be trespassed lightly, but the rewards...
Deep in the heart of Yahrska, past the beautiful Brokar Valley, lies Barren Hollows: a small and peaceful village where all Jonas Creed wanted was to leave his past behind and become the loving husband and father he swore he always would be.
But fate leaves none unscathed. Someone is looking for the Voidwalker, and will stop at nothing to get what they want.
...but Legends are born in blood.
This month, I am bringing you offers you can't resist! Tiger Hebert, Epic Fantasy author, is giving away his entire Riftborn series for .99¢
Seraphim once protected the mortal realm against the hordes of the Nine Hells. Those days were long ago...
In the years that followed, mortals found themselves on the front-lines of the bloody war. None more prominent than the Rift Wardens, the holy order charged with the defense of their world.Her whole life, Vaseen had dreamed of becoming a Warden. Her very first mission after the academy left her searching a massacred village for clues when she's waylaid by a powerful demon. After only narrowly escaping the demon’s wrath, the Warden realizes she's going to need help.She must hire a sell-sword.
Bounty hunters are aplenty, but when it comes to killing demons, the Black Blade is the best there is—but he will cost her more than coin…The Demon Hunters Omnibus Includes:1. Faith and Fury2. Dark Pact3. Herald of the NineFans of R.A. Salvatore, Forgotten Realms, and Dragonlance will love this series of 3 action-packed novels, with 600+ pages of high-fantasy adventure!
Get the entire omnibus for 99¢. Limited time only.
As for the promos this month, it is a whopper. Click the links below:
Halloween Trick or Treats Book Fair
Fall into the Worlds of Dragons and Urban Fantasy
Dark Flights of Fantasy - KU Promo
Keep reading folks!
September 14, 2022
Books are now available with my friends at Berkelouw Books Hornsby.
To all my friends at Berkelouw Books, thank you for your support. I am looking forward to adding more novels to your shelves in the near future. As a reader, I love browsing bookstores and getting that smell of physical copies in my hands. But nothing is better than seeing your own books sitting on those shelves, just waiting for someone to take them home, knowing they will get devoured soon. (Please don't eat my books.)
