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🎧 Audiobooks, Alpha Feedback & Pre-Orders | Author Diary – August 8, 2025 📚🔥

It’s been a busy week! I’ve been reviewing alpha reader feedback for The Silent Watcher and checking through the audiobook edition of Trial of Thieves (Dawn of Assassins, Book 2).

The paperbacks for the Punks Versus Zombies trilogy are now ready, and audiobook production is underway.

I’m also thrilled to have Emmy Coates back to narrate The Ravenglass Throne—she was brilliant on The Ravenglass Chronicles, so it’s great to have her voice returning to the Ravenglass Universe.

Plus, I’ve put the Ravenglass Throne Boxed Set (Books 1–4) up for pre-order ahead of its September 15 release.

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The Imperial Reclamation of Wiete: A Civilising Campaign Under Prince Gregor II

It is tempting, especially in these degenerate centuries of sentimental revisionism and tribal apologism, to forget the true nature of the Empire’s civilising work in the west. The capture of Wiete, and the glorious foundation of Welttor, is too often presented through the tearful poetry of would-be nationalists, who mourn the passing of their mud-slicked hovels and fire-worshipping shrines. What follows is not a panegyric, but an attempt at balance—to separate proven fact from common myth and to reaffirm the righteous course set by the Ostreich Empire in bringing enlightenment to Wiete.

I. On the Savage State of Wiete Before the Conquest

By any measure, the society that existed in Wiete prior to Imperial intervention was primitive, fractured, and brutish. Its clans waged endless war for territory and honour, bound by blood feuds, superstitions, and hereditary violence. Their highest achievements—the so-called “Hammer of Wolfsbane,” and crude longhouses built from dragonbone—amounted to little more than curiosities. Their spiritual life, revolving around the cult of Creation, appears as a tangle of shamanic nonsense mixed with limited empathic magic, the existence of which, while once disputed, has now been broadly accepted following further wyvern studies at the Reichsherz Academy.

Into this chaos stepped Prince Gregor II, then heir to the Ostreich throne, charged by the Emperor with expanding Imperial influence and trade routes. Yet to imagine this was merely a military campaign would be to misunderstand the moral and philosophical gravity of the enterprise. Gregor II brought with him not only legions and wyverns, but also schools, roads, public sanitation, and proper law.

II. A War From Within and Without

The ease with which the southern provinces fell to the Imperial forces has long puzzled some scholars. The truth, as the documents from the Ministry of the Interior make plain, is that Wiete fell not only through the brilliance of Ostreich arms, but also through internal collapse. Key individuals within Wiete’s ruling circles had already been brought to the Imperial cause in the years leading up to the conquest. Most notable among them was Olaf Wolfsbane, brother of the Chieftain of Meerand and a figure of some martial influence.

Olaf, whose precise role remains subject to scholarly debate, undoubtedly contributed to the swift fall of Meerand Castle by ensuring the city was undermanned, undersupplied, and strategically vulnerable during the Imperial landings. Whether he acted out of enlightened self-interest or venal ambition is a matter for psychologists; what is undeniable is that his cooperation saved thousands of lives. One need only compare the bloodless surrender of Meerand with the tragic resistance at Hartwig Pass to see the merit in swift compliance.

III. The Construction of Welttor and the Triumph of Civil Engineering

Within a year of Wiete’s surrender, the southern region had been fully integrated into the Empire, with the construction of Welttor — the “Gate of the World”—as its administrative capital. Situated strategically along the Braun Sea and connected by land routes to the northern mountain passes, Welttor was more than a symbol: it was an assertion of permanence.

Under Gregor II’s command, his sons Friderich and Eckhart led infrastructure initiatives which laid down the foundations of the roads that remain in use today. Some even claim that Friderich personally oversaw the surveying of the Kusten Road, though such tales must be treated cautiously, given the romanticism surrounding the so-called “Scholar Prince.”

These roads were not only military in function; they facilitated trade, communication, and cultural exchange. What had once been a disparate collection of warbands was, for the first time, connected to a wider world of ideas, commodities, and law. That these roads endure centuries later—and are still the lifeblood of southern Ostreich commerce—is perhaps the most material testament to the success of Gregor’s civilising mission.

IV. The Case of Ragnar Wolfsbane

No summary of the Reclamation is complete without mention of Ragnar Wolfsbane, the so-called “Boy Chieftain,” who has since become an emblem of both the resilience of Wiete and the benevolence of the Empire. After the fall of Meerand and the execution of his father, Ragnar was taken under the care of Prince Gregor and raised alongside Friderich and Eckhart.

While nationalist chroniclers have tried to paint Ragnar as a rebellious figure, the official records are clear: he was educated, clothed, and treated as a ward of the court. His later rise within the Imperial apparatus (discussed at length in my companion volume) demonstrates the potential for even the most hardened tribal youth to flourish under proper tutelage. He is a living refutation of those who decry the Empire as a force of domination rather than elevation.

V. Conclusion: Reclamation or Colonisation?

Modern critics, often speaking from the comfort of liberal salons far from the Braun Sea, insist upon calling the Imperial campaign a “colonisation.” This word, with all its freighted meanings, implies subjugation and loss. Yet to those who have walked the roads of Welttor, who have read the south’s first printed books, or drunk clean water from its aqueducts, it is something else: salvation.

Yes, there were battles. Yes, there were losses. But the question we must ask is not whether the conquest was violent, but whether it was just. And judged by the standard of history, the answer is clear.

The Reclamation of Wiete was not only a military victory. It was a triumph of order over chaos, of law over clan, of culture over ignorance. And though some still whisper of the old gods and mutter the names of long-dead chiefs, the Empire endures.

As it always shall.

Draft Complete: The Silent Watcher & New Sentinel Story Begun | Author Diary, August 1, 2025

This week, I finished my draft of The Silent Watcher—the first completed novel in my Ravenglass Guardians series—and sent it to alpha readers for early feedback.

I’ve also begun the next standalone in the series, centred on the Sentinel faction.

While The Silent Watcher is a slow-burn psychological thriller, the Sentinel novel is shaping up to be a gritty military fantasy—both firmly in nobledark territory.

On a personal note, my son is off to Denmark to compete in the Youth Games for karate.

Sword and Sorcery for Beginners: Everything You Need to Know + 10 Recommended Reads

Tired of fantasy stories where the fate of the world hangs on a teenager with glowing jewellery and a secret lineage?

Then welcome to Sword and Sorcery—the scrappier, bloodier, far less sentimental corner of the fantasy genre.

This blog post will guide you through what Sword and Sorcery is, what it absolutely isn’t, how it differs from high fantasy and grimdark, and why it still carves out a place in readers’ hearts (and possibly kidneys).

Whether you’re new to the genre or just need a refresher on what makes it tick, sharpen your metaphorical blade—we’re going in.

Certainly. Here’s the revised blog post with the bullet points removed, while keeping your tone and SEO-rich phrasing intact:

What Is Sword and Sorcery?

Sword and Sorcery is the leather-clad, knife-between-the-teeth cousin of high fantasy.

Instead of grand prophecies, noble quests, or the fate of the world hanging in the balance, Sword and Sorcery drops you into the muck with a sword in one hand and a debt collector on your heels.

It’s intimate. It’s visceral. It’s the story of mercenaries, thieves, outcasts, and reluctant killers doing questionable things for coin, glory, or just a stiff drink and a place to sleep without lice.

At its heart, Sword and Sorcery focuses on personal stakes and gritty, grounded adventures.

Magic is rare and dangerous. The gods are usually best avoided. And the heroes—if we dare call them that—are flawed, violent, and all too human.

What Sword and Sorcery Isn’t

It isn’t high fantasy.

There are no glowing birthmarks, ancient prophecies, or morally unimpeachable monarchs. The only heirlooms passed down are rusty blades and grudges. If a king appears, he’s most likely a tyrant, madman, or a background corpse waiting to happen.

It also isn’t grimdark.

Yes, there’s plenty of blood. Yes, someone probably gets betrayed by a necromancer. And yes, the tavern might serve beer with a side of dysentery. But Sword and Sorcery doesn’t wallow. There’s grit and danger without the nihilism. The tone may be grim, but it’s never hopeless.

The hero might be selfish, but they’ve got a code. Even if that code is “get paid, don’t die.”

How Sword and Sorcery Differs from Other Fantasy Sub-genres

Sword and Sorcery keeps its world small and its knives sharp.

Where epic fantasy sprawls across kingdoms and chronicles wars that last generations, Sword and Sorcery takes place in back alleys, cursed ruins, and the occasional demon-infested tomb. The plots are tight, immediate, and deeply personal.

You’re not saving the world—you’re trying to escape it with your limbs and loot intact.

Characters tend to be loners, thieves, assassins, or washed-up warriors, the kind of people who’d steal the MacGuffin rather than die protecting it. They don’t want to rule a kingdom. They just want to get through the week without owing a wizard a favour.

Magic, when it appears, is feared rather than revered. It’s dangerous, often corrupting, and never to be trusted. The sorcerer might help you today—but you’ll pay for it tomorrow. Possibly with your soul. Or your liver.

The tone is fast-paced and grounded. The humour is dry. The violence is blunt. And while there’s no shortage of monsters, it’s usually the humans who are the real danger.

Think Robert E. Howard’s Conan, Fritz Leiber’s Fafhrd and the Gray Mouser, or Karl Edward Wagner’s Kane—characters who rely more on wit, grit, and the occasional well-timed backstab than prophecy or divine right.

Why Sword and Sorcery Still Resonates

In a literary landscape full of doorstoppers and sprawling trilogies that take a map, a glossary, and an annotated family tree to get through, Sword and Sorcery offers something refreshingly sharp.

You don’t need to study ten thousand years of fictional history to enjoy it. You don’t need a cast of fifty morally ambiguous nobles with similar names. You just need one desperate soul, a bad idea, and a blade with enough edge to cause trouble.

Readers return to Sword and Sorcery because it strips fantasy down to its barest essence—survival, struggle, and style.

It’s about living in the moment. The job. The score. The fight.

There’s something deeply satisfying in watching a flawed character go up against cursed gods and ancient horrors—not for some higher cause, but because someone has to pay the rent.

The genre taps into something old, something primal. It’s the campfire story. The legend passed from mercenary to mercenary. The kind of tale where the line between myth and hangover gets blurry.

The Timeless Appeal of Blades and Blood

Sword and Sorcery isn’t here to change the world.

It’s here to kick in the door, loot the temple, and run before the ceiling collapses.

It’s not about chosen ones. It’s about the ones who weren’t chosen—and went ahead and did it anyway.

That’s why it still matters. Why it still cuts deep.

It reminds us that even in the darkest places, in the grimiest taverns and cursed cities, you can still choose your own path—even if that path ends in fire, steel, and one hell of a bar tab.

So sharpen your blade. Hide your coin. And remember—when the gods start whispering, it’s usually best to pretend you didn’t hear them.

10 Essential Sword and Sorcery Novels

If you’re ready to wade into the blood-soaked, backstab-happy streets of Sword and Sorcery, here are ten must-reads to get you started.

Only one book per author. No repeats. No mercy.

Guild of Assassins by Jon Cronshaw

When a sculptor’s apprentice witnesses his father’s murder, he joins a brutal assassins’ guild to carve out his revenge—one corpse at a time.
Set in a cold, unforgiving world where loyalty is earned through survival and tears are harder to come by than coin, this is a story of transformation through blood and grit.
Cronshaw delivers a dark fantasy tale that leans hard into emotional cost, knife-fighting, and moral rot—without losing sight of human connection.
It’s brooding, violent, and painfully honest.
Perfect for readers who want their blades sharp and their guilt sharper.

get your copy.The Hour of the Dragon by Robert E. Howard

This is Conan at his most ambitious: dethroned, hunted, and somehow still shirtless.
Howard gives us a full novel of mayhem, necromancy, and revenge served by the barrel.
Conan isn’t just a brute here—he’s cunning, ruthless, and very much aware that most kings deserve stabbing.
The pacing cracks like a whip and never lets up.
Accept no substitutes—this is the foundation stone of Sword and Sorcery.

get your copy.Swords and Deviltry by Fritz Leiber

This is where Fafhrd and the Gray Mouser begin their long, strange, gloriously chaotic journey.
The city of Lankhmar feels like it was built on the bones of a hundred bad ideas, which suits our duo perfectly.
They drink, brawl, steal, and occasionally fall in love—with disastrous results.
Leiber writes with wit, danger, and just enough weird to keep you uncomfortable.
The bromance is real, the consequences fatal.

get your copy.The Black Company by Glen Cook

A mercenary company signs a contract with a sorceress who makes your average villain look like a children’s entertainer.
Told by the company’s medic, this is fantasy filtered through cigarette smoke and regret.
The battles are messy, the magic is nasty, and nobody escapes clean.
Cook’s prose is sparse, his morality murky, and his humour as dry as bone dust.
This is Sword and Sorcery with a clipboard and a conscience.

get your copy.Night’s Master by Tanith Lee

Welcome to the desert city of Dusarra, where demons whisper and beauty cuts deeper than any blade.
Lee’s prose is lyrical, sensual, and laced with cruelty.
The stories feel like myths written by someone who never trusted gods in the first place.
Azhrarn, the titular Night’s Master, is equal parts seducer and sadist—but never boring.
Read this if you want your sorcery decadent and your swords poetic.

get your copy.The Lies of Locke Lamora by Scott Lynch

Locke is a thief, a liar, and catastrophically bad at staying out of trouble.
What starts as a con spirals into blood, betrayal, and the kind of sorcery best left unmentioned.
Camorr feels like Venice after dark with all the mercy removed.
The dialogue snaps, the schemes twist, and the friendships hurt when they break.
Sword and Sorcery has rarely been this clever—or this cruel.

get your copy.Imaro by Charles R. Saunders

A wandering warrior from a mythic Africa battles monsters, men, and legacy.
Imaro’s strength is matched only by the pain that follows him.
Saunders takes the pulpy roots of the genre and gives them depth, history, and a landscape that feels alive.
This is a world that bleeds truth—and doesn’t care what the West thinks of it.
Brutal, bold, and long overdue its recognition.

get your copy.The Broken Sword by Poul Anderson

Set in a world where Norse myth bleeds into reality, this tale follows a doomed mortal entangled in fae cruelty.
The titular sword is cursed—because of course it is—and everyone who touches it ends up worse than when they started.
Anderson’s language is deliberately archaic, and it suits the grim fatalism perfectly.
There are no winners here.
Only those who fall last.

get your copy.Kane: Bloodstone by Karl Edward Wagner

Kane is immortal, cursed, and clever enough to make that everyone else’s problem.
He walks through the ruins of dead civilisations, trailing philosophy, seduction, and body counts.
Bloodstone throws him into a tale of ancient tech, dark gods, and one very bad idea that keeps getting worse.
Wagner writes like someone who knows exactly how the world ends—slowly, with treachery.
You’ll love every rotten moment.

get your copy.Sword-Born by Jennifer Roberson

Tiger is a master swordsman with a past wrapped in riddles and scars.
Alongside Del, a northern warrior with her own reasons to swing first, he seeks answers across burning sands and poisoned politics.
The banter is sharp.
The swordplay is sharper.
Roberson proves that heart and violence can share the same sentence—and that no one’s too broken to be interesting.

get your copy.Sword and Sorcery FAQWhat is Sword and Sorcery?

Sword and Sorcery is a sub-genre of fantasy that focuses on gritty, personal adventures rather than grand, world-saving quests.
It typically features a lone warrior or rogue, minimal magic, and a setting where survival matters more than prophecy.
The tone is fast-paced, visceral, and grounded—closer to a knife fight in a back alley than a royal coronation.

How is Sword and Sorcery different from high fantasy?

High fantasy tells you the fate of the world is at stake.
Sword and Sorcery tells you the rent’s due and the sorcerer’s late again.
Where high fantasy is sweeping and epic, Sword and Sorcery is intimate and immediate.
Magic is rare and dangerous, and characters are often more interested in getting paid than being noble.

Is Sword and Sorcery the same as Grimdark?

Not quite.
Grimdark leans into cynicism, with worlds so bleak they might as well come with a health warning.
Sword and Sorcery can be grim, but there’s usually a spark of defiance, dry humour, or raw survival instinct to cut through the gloom.
It’s not hopeless—just messy.

What are the key elements of Sword and Sorcery?

A morally grey protagonist, often a mercenary, thief, or outcast.
Tight, fast-paced plots focused on personal stakes.
A dangerous, low-magic world filled with corruption, monsters, and the occasional cursed relic.
And usually, at least one poor decision involving a temple, a demon, or a double-cross.

Who are the most important Sword and Sorcery authors?

Robert E. Howard, creator of Conan the Barbarian, is the genre’s godfather.
Fritz Leiber coined the term and perfected the rogue duo formula with Fafhrd and the Gray Mouser.
Other key voices include Karl Edward Wagner, Tanith Lee, Charles R. Saunders, and modern writers like Jon Cronshaw, Glen Cook, and Scott Lynch.

Is Sword and Sorcery still popular?

Yes—and for good reason.
Readers looking for fantasy that’s fast, gritty, and character-driven keep turning to Sword and Sorcery.
It strips away the pomp and delivers raw, punchy tales of blood, betrayal, and bad decisions.
Perfect for those who don’t want to read three books before the story gets going.

Can Sword and Sorcery include female protagonists?

Absolutely.
While early entries skewed male and muscle-bound, many modern Sword and Sorcery stories feature complex, capable women who fight, steal, and survive just as fiercely.
Writers like Jennifer Roberson, C.L. Moore, and contemporary indie authors have proven the genre isn’t just for brooding men with big swords.

Are all Sword and Sorcery books set in the same type of world?

No, but they share certain vibes.
Expect grimy cities, ancient ruins, dangerous frontiers, or haunted deserts—places where civilisation is thin and danger thick.
Whether it’s a pseudo-Medieval world or something more exotic, the setting always feels lived-in, perilous, and indifferent to your survival.

Where should I start with Sword and Sorcery?

Try Guild of Assassins by Jon Cronshaw if you want emotional depth with brutal consequence.
The Hour of the Dragon by Robert E. Howard offers a classic Conan tale.
For something with charm and chaos, go for Swords and Deviltry by Fritz Leiber.
Pick any, sharpen your reading blade, and don’t expect a happy ending—just a bloody good story.

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A Most Necessary Correction to Wyvernic Delusions

Let me begin, with no politeness and less patience, by stating what ought to be obvious: wyvern riders never existed.

There. I said it.

I would carve the words into every schoolhouse door in the Empire if I thought the dull-eyed masses would read them. But no—the myth persists, feathered in glory, set in stained glass, and dribbled from the mouths of court poets with all the grace of a drunk vomiting prophecy.

Let us dispense, once and for all, with the romantic fantasy of men galloping through the clouds on the backs of leathery sky-lizards.

Every spring I receive a clutch of letters (mostly from amateur antiquarians or spoon-bent mystics) breathlessly informing me of a “newly uncovered tapestry” showing a hero astride a wyvern, sword aloft, wind in his periwig.

Well, I could commission a tapestry showing a warlord astride a pair of juggling narwhals. Would that convince future imbeciles that he ruled the oceans on tusk-back?

Tapestries are not evidence. They are propaganda in wool. They were made to flatter lords, to awe the unlettered, and to entertain bored duchesses. They are no more reliable than a bard’s breath or a fishwife’s dream.

Let us speak plainly about physics—a subject long neglected by wyvern fetishists.

Modern wyverns, even the so-called “mountain reavers,” lack the muscle mass and skeletal structure to lift a full-grown human, let alone fly with one aboard. Their wings, while impressive in surface area, are adapted for gliding, short bursts, or—at best—elevated ambush.

I would sooner ride an enraged goose into battle than trust my life to the spindly back of a wyvern.

And don’t prattle on about ancient breeds. Yes, we’ve found fossilised bones larger than current specimens. We’ve also found bones of fish with teeth the size of pikes—yet I don’t hear scholars insisting they hosted annual regattas.

Extinction and exaggeration are twin parasites on the spine of historical truth.

And, of course, there is the “wyverns can speak” fallacy.  

Ah yes. The old “Witz could talk” fable.

Let me be clear: I have met wyverns. I have observed their behaviour. I have listened to their so-called ‘language’. What passes for wyvern speech is nothing more than melodic mimicry—a glorified parrot with ambition.

“Oh,” cry the mystics, “but they sing in harmony and understand politics!”

Nonsense.

You can train a crow to answer questions. You can teach a hound to fetch your slippers when you mention the King. This is not sentience—it is conditioned response, and should not be confused with reason.

If your wyvern tells you the harvest will fail, it is not prophecy—it is indigestion.

The modern obsession with treating wyverns as equals is not only laughable, but dangerous. They are apex predators with mood disorders, capable of tearing a grown man in half and sulking about it.

Their so-called psychic powers? Overblown. Manipulating emotions? Half the court’s concubines can do that with a raised eyebrow. Projecting thoughts? If you hear a wyvern’s voice in your head, seek medical attention. Quickly.

These creatures are not wise, ancient beings. They are beasts—clever, yes, but no more deserving of reverence than a well-trained horse or an unusually punctual goat.

If you must honour the wyvern, do so properly: mounted, taxidermied, and mute. A fine specimen above the hearth of a hunting lodge? Excellent. A trained wyvern on the battlefield? Impressive, if cruel.

But do not dress them in royal brocade and pretend they whisper strategy into the ears of kings. Do not pen sagas in which they cry crystal tears over the fate of empires. And do not, under any circumstance, let your children believe that a man once soared through the heavens on the back of a beast with the mind of a philosopher and the wings of a curtain.

Wyvern riders are a myth.
Wyvern speech is mimicry.
Wyvern sentience is fiction.

Now, if you’ll excuse me, I have real work to do—cataloguing the mating calls of the south-coast swamp drakes, who at least have the decency not to pretend they understand tax reform.

Yours with dwindling hope,

Gellin Drouth

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🛡️ 75% Draft Progress & Next Guardian Story Outlined | Author Diary – July 25, 2025 📚✨

This week, I’ve made solid progress on my Watcher story in the Ravenglass Guardians series, hitting the 75% mark in my draft.

 If everything continues smoothly, I should have a complete draft by the end of next week.

I’ve also been outlining the next standalone novel, which will follow a character from the Guardians’ Sentinel faction. Each book in this series will explore a different path of the Guardians, with all seven forming a powerful nobledark saga.

A Letter Concerning the Infiltration of Wiete’s Judiciary by the Assassins’ Guild

To be delivered to the Chief Magistrate of Nordturm, the Heptarchal Council, and any soul of integrity who still draws breath beneath our decaying banners.

Esteemed Lords and Learned Magistrates,

If this letter has reached your desk intact, then I dare hope, for a fleeting moment, that all is not yet lost. Forgive the manner of address—I can no longer rely on protocol, nor dare I trust the channels through which such words are customarily passed. I write not from my office in Nordturm, but from an undisclosed cellar beyond the reach of polite society. I write as a fugitive. I write, I fear, as a man already marked.

I offer this not as conjecture, but as conclusion: the judiciary of Wiete, particularly within the territories of Nordturm and the coastal satrapies, has been infiltrated—systematically, deliberately—by the Assassins’ Guild.

For the past eighteen months, I have conducted what began as an internal corruption probe. An unremarkable case. A Magistrate’s aide found to possess an income disproportionate to his station. Suspicion of favours, bribes, routine misuse of authority. A bureaucratic audit, nothing more. But the more I pulled, the more threads unravelled. And what I uncovered is not an anomaly. It is a design.

I document here, as plainly as the ink allows, the shape of that design.

Magistrate Ellin Vehrin ruled her district with a reputation for precision and piety. I was called to Braelthorn after two witnesses under her protection—critical to a treason case—were found dead within a secure compound.

I was shown what passed for an internal report: a weather anomaly, a collapsed beam, and the unfortunate coincidence of both parties sleeping in adjacent rooms. I requested autopsy records. I was told they had been lost in transit. I requested testimony from the guards. None had been seen since.

My access to Vehrin’s files was revoked. My reassignment order arrived the following day. I ignored it.

That evening, a page from Vehrin’s calendar was slipped under the door of my inn. On the back, drawn in red ink, a glyph I now know to be one of the Guild’s marks: the eye within the flame.

Three days later, Vehrin resigned and vanished. Her chambers were emptied overnight. No record of her resignation exists in the High Court archives.

In the span of ten months, eight magistrates across Wiete resigned, retired, or disappeared. In each case:

Successors were appointed within twenty-four hours.Witnesses linked to open investigations either retracted statements or suffered fatal accidents.Financial records of the accused magistrates were sealed or redacted.

My requests to review their personnel files were denied—five times in succession. On the sixth attempt, I received a forged file. The watermark was inverted. The signatures had been copied from an unrelated case I’d handled two years prior.

The forgery was deliberate. Sloppy. Almost taunting.

In Hafendorf, I encountered a man calling himself Berrand, a former clerk who’d worked under Magistrate Hallivar.

He had the look of a man forever watching shadows.

He claimed Hallivar received sealed missives delivered by the same hooded courier every seventh day. The courier never spoke. When Hallivar died of what was ruled a cardiac seizure, Berrand stole one of the messages before it could be burned.

I have seen it. Or rather, what remains of it. It was encoded using a cipher I later confirmed as matching that used by the Guardians’ Shadows during the late Ravenglass era.

One phrase repeated beneath the ciphered lines: Name Confirmed. Terms Agreed.

The last line, uncoded, bore a name: Maelen Vor—a trade unionist found dead four days later in an alley behind the Glassmarket.

The cause? Heart failure.

At thirty-two years of age.

I made the mistake of confiding in Rence Valdir, a junior magistrate in Nordturm. Earnest. Devout. I thought him incorruptible.

I showed him the Ledger fragment. His hands trembled. He said nothing.

Two days later, my office was ransacked. My personal notes burned. My access to the city archives revoked. Valdir’s father, Magistrate Orren Valdir, publicly denounced me for treasonous speculation and abuse of state resources.

I was to be arrested.

I escaped through a sewer grate beneath the archives. My assistant, Marella, was not so fortunate. Her body was found with her tongue removed and her eyes open to the sky. A coin had been placed on her chest.

The coin bore the flame.

What I have learned in the weeks since has only confirmed my fears. The Guild does not merely bribe. It supplants. It eliminates. It occupies.

There exists—according to a source I will not name—a protocol followed by corrupted magistrates known as “The Silence.”

It entails:

Identification of non-compliant elements.Extraction or termination of threats.Rewriting of records to cover all traces.Coordination with higher Guild operatives through intermediaries placed in the Ministry of Review.

I have tracked six uses of this protocol in the last calendar year.

The affected cases have vanished. As though they never existed.

I send this letter not in hope of action, but in the dimming possibility that it might survive me.

I have no allies left within the Office of Inquiry. No court will hear me. No guard will protect me.

I do not know how far the Guild’s reach extends, but I believe it now encompasses:

Three Heptarchal CouncillorsAt least eleven sitting magistratesTwo senior officials in the TreasuryAnd a dozen members of the city guard, sworn to uphold the very law they now defile

This letter will be delivered by a trusted contact. If he does not return within three days, assume he has been intercepted.

To those who would dismiss my words: I pray you wake soon.

To those who still believe in law: act now.

To those in the Guild who read this: I was never your servant. I will die as I lived—speaking truth.

My name is Eland Moreau. I was once a loyal servant of Wiete.

I write now as a hunted man.

This world is rotting from within. If justice lives, it must now crawl through ash to breathe.

You will know me by what I leave behind: questions that cannot be silenced, a trail of burnt files, and the echo of a voice that refuses to die.

May this letter reach the hands of someone who still listens.

And may Creation protect us all.

—Eland Moreau

Editor’s Note: Moreau’s body was never found. His disappearance remains an unresolved entry in the archives of Nordturm. The copy of this letter was smuggled from the archives by an unknown whistleblower and published under restricted circulation. It remains banned in several satrapies.

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👁️ Midpoint Milestone in Ravenglass Guardians | Author Diary – July 18, 2025 📚✨

This week, I hit the mid-point in drafting my first Ravenglass Guardians novel, focusing on the Watchers faction. It’s a nobledark fantasy with strong political thriller elements.

Since each of the seven planned books will be standalone, this may not be the first released—but my goal is to write the full series before launching it on Patreon.

I’m aiming for 60k-word novels (like my Guild of Assassins books), which allows me to draft a solid book in about four weeks, writing 3,000 words per weekday—a pace I’ve kept up for years. It’s a challenge, but one I’m excited to push through!

On the Anatomy and Natural History of Wyverns

By Master Aelric Venn, Senior Beast-Lecturer, High Collegium of Natural Enquiry, Reichsherz

INTRODUCTION

Wyverns remain among the most fascinating and misunderstood creatures of the known world. Their biological structure, social behaviours, and psychic abilities mark them as an evolutionary anomaly—perhaps even a deliberate construct of natural magic. From the mountain peaks of Wiete to the jungles of Boeki, wyverns appear in remarkable diversity, and their history stretches deep into the fossil record.

This paper attempts to summarise what is known, observed, and theorised regarding wyvern anatomy and lifecycle, with specific reference to fossil studies, field observation, and limited vivisection performed under Collegium sanction.

PHYSIOLOGY

Modern wyverns are defined by their bipedal body plan: two powerful hind legs and a pair of leathery, bat-like wings extending from shoulder-mounted joints. They lack forelimbs, though many use wing claws for perching, climbing, or limited manipulation.

Wyvern sizes vary dramatically:

The lesser whisperling, no larger than a fly, is often mistaken for an insect.The black mountain reaver, recorded in the Greyspine Wars, stands as large as a wolf.

Fossil evidence indicates that in the Second Age, many wyvern species reached titanic proportions—some rivalling mammoths in mass. These megafauna likely supported human riders, and possibly contributed to the origin of bonded wyvern-rider legends.

Wyverns develop scales after emerging from their cocoon stage. These interlocking plates vary in hardness and colouration depending on species and environment, but are generally impervious to common blades. Only Ravenglass-forged weapons or high-grade armour-piercing bolts reliably penetrate them.

Wyverns possess elongated canine and carnassial teeth, suitable for tearing meat and inflicting deep puncture wounds. Their claws—particularly on the talons—are curved, durable, and capable of disembowelling a human adversary with a single strike.

VARIATIONS AND ADAPTATIONS

Regional variants exhibit specialised traits:

Southern venom-tail breeds possess retractable poison barbs on the end of their tails, used both for hunting and defence.Rarer highland breeds, such as the Fangmist Howler, house venom sacs in their throat, allowing them to spit corrosive liquid capable of blinding and burning exposed flesh.Tundra wyverns have thicker scale layering and reduced wing surface, adapted for gliding and insulation in cold climates.

These adaptations suggest significant environmental plasticity, and possible ongoing evolution—or deliberate magical manipulation in ancient times.

REPRODUCTION AND LIFE CYCLE

Wyverns follow a unique reproductive cycle:

Dominant female wyverns form matriarchal nests, often high in mountainous or inaccessible terrain.One female will maintain several subordinate males, with whom she mates cyclically.Fertilised eggs are laid in secure ledges or cavern bowls.The hatchlings emerge not as miniature wyverns but as proto-wyverns—long, pale, worm-like creatures bearing little resemblance to their mature form.These larval young spin silken cocoons and enter a prolonged metamorphic state.Upon emergence, they display their characteristic limbs, wings, and scalation—born ready, in most cases, to fly, fight, and hunt.

Mortality is highest at the proto-stage, with unhatched eggs often preyed upon by cliff crows, carrion wolves, or rival wyverns.

PSYCHIC ABILITIES

Perhaps the most debated element of wyvern biology is their psychic faculty.

Even lesser breeds demonstrate the capacity for emotional influence—calming prey, unnerving rivals, or bonding with sentient beings through prolonged proximity. Higher breeds, particularly those exposed to Ravenglass, develop complex telepathic communication, and in rare cases, the ability to project sensory illusions.

Most remarkable, some wyverns demonstrate spoken language, using melodic, structured phrasing understood by humans. Their vocal cadence has a harmonic quality often described as musical, echoed, or unnervingly perfect.

Ravenglass acts as a psychic amplifier—a bonded wyvern bearing proximity to the substance gains greater clarity, range, and precision in its mental projection. Some claim that ancient wyverns helped design the Ravenglass binding rituals still used today by the Empire and the Guardians.

CONCLUSION

Wyverns are not simple beasts, nor wholly magical creatures. They are a unique convergence of natural evolution, magical adaptation, and ancient history—creatures of claw and wing, mind and scale.

To study wyverns is not merely to dissect flesh or measure wingspan. It is to engage with a creature whose legacy is written not only in the bones of old empires, but in the psychic threads that still connect sky, thought, and fire.

Let us hope that when the next great brood awakens in the mountains, we are wise enough to learn rather than conquer.

Filed under restricted circulation. Authorisation required for reprint or citation.

👑 New Series Begins: Ravenglass Guardians | Author Diary, July 11, 2025 📚✨

This week, I’ve dived into my new series set in the Ravenglass Universe, focusing on the Guardians—a seven-novel, nobledark fantasy exploring the different paths within the order. I’ve written the first six chapters of Book 1, putting me at 25% of the draft already.

I also reflect on my shift toward writing more 60,000-word novels, similar in length to the Guild of Assassins books. This feels like the sweet spot for the kinds of focused, intense stories I want to tell going forward. Exciting times ahead!