Supernatural Central
Our novel features an ensemble cast of point of view characters as our protagonists. There is King Henry of Astymere, a noble, wise king and a warrior of legendary renown trying to keep all he has built from falling apart; Prince Mayson, Henry’s son and only heir who finds himself struggling with his sense of duty when he falls in love with a commoner; Lily, a young girl who discovers that the nightmares that plague her every night, and her unusual eye color indicate a strange power of foresight that could spell doom for the whole world; Queen Beatrice, King Henry’s wife and staunch ally, a fierce fighter dedicated to her family and secretly reviled by Henry’s people for being a foreigner; and Prince Ronin, a young warrior who leads his small band of loyal comrades across miles of treacherous terrain in an attempt to avenge his fallen brothers and bring a band of murderers to justice. All of their stories intertwine, and they are all being guided by the same unseen hand.
We aren’t firm believers in the paranormal, but we also aren’t firm deniers. When writing a story such as ours, you definitely need the capability of opening your mind to outlandish and peculiar concepts. We wouldn’t be surprised if the paranormal was proved one way or the other. As far as we can recall, neither one of us has experienced anything that could be branded as “supernatural”. If we had, perhaps we would believe more strongly. However, Jon was once told a story by a college classmate that her boyfriend had had a horrific paranormal experience once. He and a group of friends were going to explore an abandoned slaughterhouse that was supposedly haunted. On their way, they bumped into another group of teens who also happened to be heading to the slaughterhouse. When they all got there, the second group chickened out and disappeared back the way they came, not to be seen again. When the boyfriend and his friends reviewed the camera footage they had taken that night, they got to the point where they met the other kids, and found that they had been talking to no one. The other kids had never been there, and supposedly the boyfriend did not sleep for days after this discovery. It’s stories like this that make us wonder and question, rather than saying a hard yes or no.
We are currently hard at work on a sequel to The Blood of a King, titled, The Dark Crown. Jon currently has a small list of first drafts that he has been working on, including a monster hunter story inspired by a trip he took to Ireland, a sci fi horror that is sort of a Predator meets The Village kind of story, while plotting out a classical ‘slay the dragon’ sort of fairytale, and a planned trilogy about a once-great wizard battling to escape the dark pits of alcoholism in order to save the world once more. Dennis is working on an original fantasy that involves secondary worlds crossing over with our own, and a historical fiction drama focusing on a survivor of 9/11.
Excerpt
Henry reached out to touch the doors, and the more he fought it, the more the voice of the Raelian emperor mocked him. Tell me, Henry. Does the boy look like you? Does the proud blood of the Avaari flow within him, or has your whore given him too much of her mark?
“Silence,” Henry said, turning from the doors to break the illusion. He nearly stumbled upon a line of burnt skeletons strewn across the floor. “One more word and your death will be slow, I swear it. You will curse the day you first drew breath.”
The illusion had been broken, but the voice remained. I wish to know the face of my enemy, Karrok. When we come together at last, I wish to know it well.
“You will never touch him! Do you hear? You will never lay your hands on him!” Henry swung about, striking at the source of the voice, but it came from within, as slippery and foul as pond scum. The Beast will have his day, Karrok. You know it. One by one, those you hold dear will fall under his might. Your wife, your mongrel—even your precious Rahm shall be consumed by the Second Flame. But first, they shall all weep for you. You shall mark the beginning of the end.
The voice dragged Henry back into his false vision, forcing him to once again see the devastation he could not prevent. The windows blew apart around him as fire rained from the sky, drenching the White City in blazing destruction that consumed flesh, stone, and steel. It seemed like minutes before Henry finally took control of himself and stood before the emperor on his balcony, overlooking the growing inferno, listening to the sounds of screams. Tiberian’s hands were outstretched, his arms spread wide. His smile was filled with what Henry could only describe as pure, unhinged madness as he gazed upon the burning city and laughed. Even after Rahmirion took Tiberian’s head from his shoulders, that smile remained—and the emperor’s laugh could not be silenced.
“Nooooo!” Henry bellowed into the empty corridor. The vision was gone, and so was the voice. Those words stayed with him for nearly twenty years, but he had never heard them so clearly. He had tried to forget the look of glee on Tiberian’s face as fire bled from an otherwise clear sky.
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