Arisendia awaits…

As I write this, Arisendia stands ready for its first visitors from our realm, besides this wandering storyteller. All three initial chronicles are live to purchase on Amazon in both paperback and Kindle formats. The eBooks are also readable for those with a Kindle Unlimited subscription.

Arisendia’s marketing push won’t kick in for another week, so ARC reviewers can rate the new series for customer consideration.

Click any of the three images below to find that chronicle at your local Amazon store. You’ll want to read them in sequence for the follow-on titles to make any sense.

If you haven’t already watched the series starter book trailer for ‘Rise of the Loremaster: The Arisendia Chronicles – Book 1,’ you can view it here:

Other than that, it only remains for me to wish those of you venturing forth into my fantasy realm: fair winds, calm seas and a safe road. As the dwarves of Hearthstone might say: ‘Dig well. Live true.’ Or, to quote Janily Barlen’s battle cry based on the song she performed that launched the resistance: ‘Lonelanders ARISE.



When you’ve gotta go, you’ve gotta go!

Is there any place for info dumps in fantasy fiction?

Ah, here I am treading on the toes of another writing pseudo-rule. I should mention that ninety-nine percent of the time, avoiding info dumps is a recommendation I follow. I believe spouting reams of information at the reader in direct address takes them out of the story, and when done ad nauseam, becomes tedious.

Rise of the Loremaster,’ the first book in ‘The Arisendia Chronicles,’ opens with the city of Falinor under siege. While I launch straight into the action, it soon became apparent offering a simple city description while providing my readers an outline of its defenders and their origins from the outset (the basic kingdom make-up of Olandra) would enhance their experience. It would also help them grasp important, ongoing diplomacy without resorting to endless dialogue between multiple parties. Dialogue which could feel contrived under such pressing circumstances.

I’m a big fan of ‘show, don’t tell.’ I could’ve bumbled along for several chapters at the start, ‘showing’ the siege build-up and various kingdom relationships without ‘telling’ the reader anything. YAWN. Instead, I opted to jump in like a sports commentator addressing latecomers to a game with the state of play. An elementary city description was required, regardless. I simply tucked a few extra nuggets of information alongside it.

In the first draft I let myself go to town (pun intended), realising I’d lay a metaphorical axe at the tree root through multiple rounds of editing. When it came time for this literary lumberjack to roll up his sleeves, I applied three considerations:

  1. Does the information presented add value to the immediate scene?
  2. Is there any irrelevant minutiae included which I can cut and introduce at a more gradual pace throughout the story, if at all?
  3. Can any of it be removed and scattered throughout the chapter via appropriate situational action/dialogue?

Sure enough, I halved the relevant text, stripping it back to a bare minimum and tweaking chapter elements elsewhere. Next, I tried reading and re-reading the opening chapter with and without the extra information. As a result, I’ve kept my well-trimmed description/dump. Horror of horrors for the legalistically minded. I’m sure some twit will decry this in a crappy review that’s all about them and not the book. Talk to the hand…

Is there any place for info dumps in fantasy fiction? I’d say: weigh up the pros, cons, and execution, while giving careful thought to alternatives. Generally, I avoid them. In this case, ‘better in than out’ proved my preferred choice. Or, given the banner image for this post and the fact we’re talking about ‘dumps,’ that should probably read: ‘better out than in.’

Kremat Peppers with your Radnoush, sir? Praise Eskar!

The significance of food and faith in fantasy literature

What’s the difference between sparkling wine and Champagne? About two feet if you own a winery right outside the boundary of France’s Champagne region. That’s because the drink enjoys protected geographic status. Origins of the beverage are subject to claims and counter-claims that it was actually discovered at Winchcombe, Gloucestershire here in England, years before our French cousins ‘invented’ it. Limoux in France swears to having made sparkling wine through secondary fermentation, way before either place. However, the – sometimes tense – discussion arising between different peoples over that classic winemaking process illustrates the importance of food/drink as an emblematic, unifying symbol of regional and cultural identity. Religion is another such topic. Examine any culture throughout human history, and you’ll find festivals, life-governing superstitions and a sense of connection stemming from both. Different places add their own flavours to cuisine and religion, even if those are similar foods and faiths.

When creating a new world foreign to readers, incorporating these significant symbols into the ongoing narrative is a useful way to build depth and immersion while further informing the audience of this mysterious land’s quirks. Hailing from England’s oldest brewery town, I’m well aware how such associations form core components of ‘place,’ and ‘home’ to natives.

In a previous post I described how the continent of Olandra, on which the majority of the initial Arisendia Chronicles are set, comprises provincial kingdoms large enough for epic adventure, yet close enough to be considered neighbours. Their relatively compact size also gives rise to a certain pride based on regional commerce and the products produced within them. Two of those kingdoms, Downhall and Vetravian, are famous for their white (‘Andane’) and red (‘Sunfire Dusk’) wines respectively. So quintessential are they, I’ve put together mock wine labels for sale in the Arisendia Merchandise Store. Of course, within the story’s environment they’d appear in bland bottles featuring attached handwritten labels and marked wax seals. A character called Ashlene Parrah invents the concept of block printing for text during ‘The Sword Ascendant,’ to produce large volumes of anti-regime propaganda in Falinor. But, like I suggested, the labels on sale are a bit of fun. You’ll find an image of them in the top banner for this post.

Speaking of Falinor, it’s during the visit of Palance Dane and Ulfgar Nelstrom to the city in ‘Rise of the Loremaster’ that we first receive a taste of how food and faith from the swelling population of its incoming southern demographic, the Eskardi, will affect wider Olandra. After witnessing a self-deprecating local city dweller fawning at (and over-paying for) a bowl of Radnoush, they go on to observe native Luminora worshippers ejected from their temple by new arrivals devoted to the four-armed god, Eskar. Radnoush is a stew made from a mixture of goat and lizard meat, blended with hot regional (Kremat) peppers. It’s a classic street food served in cheap, disposable clay bowls throughout the southern continent of Junziel. Eskardi faith and culture is based on an aggressive, patriarchal model whose core doctrines were laid down by a visionary called Klemik, after estrangement from his wife. I won’t go into further details. Needless to say, the events form a key part of Palance’s and Ulfgar’s shocking discoveries. They also provide several opportunities to furnish the reader with additional information on faith, food, flora, fauna and finance without dumping it all in their lap, out of context. The world gains depth and familiarity while advancing the central plot. Win, win!

Few Tolkien fans will ever forget Cram, Lembas, Longbottom Leaf or Old Winyard and their relevance to his characters. If you’ve a connection to the provenance of your own food, you’ll understand that’s because people instinctively bond with that which sustains them. This is true of both physical and spiritual nourishment.

In fiction writing essays and articles, the treatment of location as a character is often advised. I believe food and faith are similar branches of the same tree, and may even become ‘characters’ of import to the overall story arc. A particular village will never slay a dragon like one of our protagonists. A specific bottle of wine or beer is unlikely to save the day, unless it offers healing properties. The tenets of a mystical faith into which a hero digs deep for inner strength might linger in the background without any obvious physical manifestation. Yet details of those simple elements can add great richness to a fantasy world and those who dwell within it. Perhaps they deserve a little extra attention.

The third Arisendia novel, ‘The Sword Ascendant: The Arisendia Chronicles – Book 3,’ is now available to pre-order at Amazon. Like its counterparts, a paperback version will follow at the time of release.

Lost in translation

Never read a pseudo-rules article on writing while drinking a cup of tea. That’s my advice after nearly spraying mine across the living room a short while ago. The source of this sudden beverage expulsion from my cavernous maw? A commentator who insisted fantasy writers should never use the phrase ‘short order,’ as it’s barely a hundred years old with an etymology in the roots of American fast food.

After I mopped up my mess and stopped laughing, I went back to the article. Now, for those with a quarter pounder for a brain, ‘Short Order’ is a centuries old military command issued on the brink of battle, urging pace into the fray. It’s for that reason the term became synonymous with haste in the English language. We have similar marching and battle orders today. ‘Open Order’ and ‘Close Order’ are still in use. ‘Step Short’ was popular in the British Army during the First World War as a command for troops to shorten their stride. You get the picture. It’s nothing to do with ‘ordering’ a burger and fries – or rather it wasn’t originally. However, in modern American parlance, IT IS. As an Englishman, I obviously don’t read Webster’s American English Dictionary. Sure enough, their current definition of the term reads as follows:

\ ˈshȯrt-ˌȯr-dər  , -ˈȯr- \

Definition of short-order

: preparing or serving food that can be cooked quickly to a customer’s order

a short-order cook

This brings me to the value behind what at first proved a laugh-out-loud comment: living languages are constantly evolving and operate in a state of flux.

If you resurrected Noah Webster, who wrote the original print version of the above online publication, he’d give you a definition of ‘Short Order’ akin to the military one I explained. As a well-educated linguist who served in the Connecticut Militia during the American Revolutionary War (and someone who pre-dated the advent of fast food to which the term often applied after 1890) it was a phrase all too familiar.

When I first started school, the term ‘gay’ still denoted a carefree person. Yes, I know, I’m a crusty old fart. Nobody batted an eyelid if you described yourself as ‘gay.’ Today, nobody would still bat an eyelid, but you’d be communicating a somewhat different idea.

So is there any credence to avoiding terms like ‘short order’ in fictional worlds? How far would you run with a criticism like that? Modern English is a bastardisation of mainly Greek and Latin. Playing devil’s advocate, let me make a point: NONE of the words used by characters in our fantasy novels would exist in their worlds. Do your characters say, “Hello,” at all? Sorry, not allowed. “How are you today?” Nope; that would have to go. Did your world evolve from a Greek and Latin-speaking people? No? Then why are they speaking English?

This is, of course, taking things to a ridiculous extreme. We might invent brand new languages, write our novels in them, and force readers to undertake a course of study before they’re able to enjoy our work. I’d suggest only Tolkien could pull that off, producing meagre book sales if he’d done so.

Tolkien is a great plumb line to consider our use of colloquialisms and common language against. If you read the appendices of ‘The Lord of the Rings,’ you’ll find a Shire calendar in which he details the months with their hobbit equivalents. September becomes ‘Halimath.’ Yet in the text of his novels – even when viewed by hobbits – Tolkien refers to months by their common, modern English names. September is ‘September.’ While this might give ‘burger and fries guy’ a fit of the vapours, Tolkien undoubtedly understood the importance of not confusing newcomers to his work; those without a degree in Middle-Earth studies. A master author, he might have included lines as follows:

Sam awoke to a heavy carpet of dew shimmering across the lush sward. A fresh chill ached his bones in the damp wilderness. At Bagshot Row, he’d no longer need to trim the verge, while the party tree squeezed its final shades of green from leaves soon to become a riot of crimson and orange. Halimath; the month was at hand. Had he and Frodo been away so long?

From a passage like that, the reader would easily glean Halimath equalled September or thereabouts. Yet it slows down the narrative and presumably wasn’t important enough to detail.

However funny, the observation inspiring this article holds some water if we’re passionate about not jarring our readers. The last thing any fiction writer wants is to burst the immersion bubble and remind our audience they’re reading a novel, rather than feeling like they’re living within it. If Legolas hopped down from the Deeping Wall and took a mobile phone selfie for his Instagram followers, you’d pitch the book across the room. Such a modern intrusion would ruin the story. While most linguistic ‘invaders’ prove more subtle, I’d say it’s worth considering our own position on them during the creation process.

My personal preference when writing fantasy is:

  1. Is there a better, alternative phrase which would serve?
  2. Am I just being lazy and/or would my characters really say that?
  3. Is the term used as part of the author’s voice to a reader, or between characters as dialogue?

Option 3 is the one I deem most important. Let me relate it to ‘The Arisendia Chronicles’ as an example. Common to most fantasy books, mine start with maps of the regions in question. I wanted the reader to understand distances involved, so have included a scale bar calibrated in ten mile segments. This map is for the READER, and doesn’t pretend to be hand-drawn in the world or anything like that. I tend to express distances in walking/riding/sailing terms etc. as far as the characters are concerned.

I’m one of those authors who enjoys chapter subheadings, rather than pure numbers. Some of those subheadings employ irony or mild humour to outline their contents. I subtitled a chapter where several protagonists evade slaughter through subterfuge: ‘Agents Provocateurs.’ This French expression is never used in the story text, but conveys meaning to the reader. Another chapter where diminutive characters join the group and agree a direction is called… wait for it… ‘Short Order.’ Yep, the whole gang pauses at a wayside inn and dines out on southern fried chicken (just kidding). To be honest, I’d have no issues using that term within the text. But if the thought of confusing/upsetting folk worried me, I’d probably draw a line at keeping it within the author’s voice, rather than character dialogue. Thus: ‘The king’s men dealt with the remaining marauders in short order,’ communicates a familiar concept to the reader as spoken by the author, without specifically introducing the phrase into fantasy world language. I’m okay with that. Speaking of which, some of my characters use the term ‘okay.’ It’s a relatively neutral word fitting the parlance of our day. In a hundred years, it’ll probably seem antiquated. Depending on who you believe, ‘okay’ dates back to a c920 Byzantine magical incantation against fleas, a nineteenth century Native American Choctaw expression, or any of around fifty other explanations, dates and national origins. To my readers, its meaning is a common way to check someone is hale; so that’s what it means to the story characters in question. Simple.

There are other terms I’m careful to address during editing/proofing. One character asked another to ‘inch forward,’ until I caught it and considered that ‘inch’ isn’t a unit of measure in Arisendia. They wouldn’t say to each other that ‘the penny dropped,’ as money is detailed by specific names other than ‘penny.’ That said, some familiarity makes things less laborious for my audience. Centuries, decades, years, months, weeks/fortnights, and days are referred to as is. Any mention of hours is kept to a minimum. I avoid going lower into minutes and seconds, as (to me) that jars. There are alternative ways to convey short segments of time without confusing anyone or falling back on those precision descriptors.

In the final analysis, if we put ourselves in a new reader’s shoes and don’t lose the joy of exploring a fantasy world while re-visiting our text, I put it to you they won’t either.

Friends in this world

As we creep nearer the December release, I’m paying tribute to old friends included in the dedication of the first book, ‘Rise of the Loremaster.’ There, I mention Stuart, Patrick, Nick, Howard and Max; classmates with whom I first delved into role-playing games at the start of our summer holidays in 1984. We met at Patrick’s cottage in Perry Wood for a D&D adventure extravaganza. This included two short outdoor breaks from the tabletop, running around in the trees and attempting to catch Patrick concealed in a cape. All the while, we followed a trail of clues assembled and hidden by his mother within a mile of their home. LARP’ing wasn’t a hobby back then, although its seeds had been planted by groups like ‘Treasure Trap.’ We amused several local walkers, dashing around and fighting with our cheap plastic swords, before returning to the comfort of paper and dice. Heck, we were twelve…

A few more friends got into the hobby along the way. Not least of these was a lovely guy from our class called Ben Harrap. In later years, Ben and I took long, quiet country walks, enjoying simple, ad hoc D&D adventures. I acted as DM and NPCs, while he played his favourite character: a thief called Swifthand. People weren’t always as kind to Ben as they could’ve been. Whether this was on account of physical challenges he’d battled all his life or other personality issues, I couldn’t say. All I know is he appreciated those games. As an introvert preferring calmer and less boisterous activities myself, so did I. We soon became an inseparable duo, including an evening out on our last day at school. Ben understood the concept of playing a character according to their personality quirks rather than acting to ‘win.’ If Swifthand wouldn’t behave a certain way in a situation, he’d play him to the hilt as he was — consequences be damned. One day, I rewarded his character with a massive fantasy city inn called ‘The Traveller’s Rest.’ I knew he’d love running morally ambiguous escapades from it, as he sought to lighten the purses of wealthy merchants and embroil himself in spy craft. He did.

We stayed in touch for several years after school. Eventually, different life directions put an end to our regular contact.

Ben in our final class photo from 1989

Shortly before Christmas 2019, my old friend died from a sudden attack of sepsis. A father and gentle giant in his late forties, Ben went ahead of us – as I state in the book’s dedication – on the greatest adventure of all. At the time, I was writing a lot of British Horror Fiction, and dedicated one of those titles to him. In 2021, when I started building my fantasy world, I wanted to do a little more. As I plotted them, the stories worked well with incorporating shadowy thief/spy characters. I included a rambling old city inn filled with secret doors, passages and chambers, run by a former adventuring comrade of the main protagonist. The inn is, of course, ‘The Traveller’s Rest,’ and its owner (in the first book at least) a thief who goes by the nickname, ‘Swifthand.’ In Arisendia, thieves’ guild members use both ordinary names and nicknames. Swifthand’s ordinary name is Neb Parrah. Switch the first and last letters of each word around, and you’ll discover an ‘Easter Egg’ I wanted to reveal for any who read this blog.

I’m pretty sure Ben (or should that be Neb?) would appreciate both the tribute and me letting slip what would otherwise remain hidden to most. Seek and ye shall find. Read my website and ye shall find enlightenment.

Other ‘Easter Eggs’ exist within the books, but that has to be my personal favourite.

So here’s a toast, Ben. As the initial three Arisendia Chronicles go live, you’ll have been gone three years. Out of sight, but never out of mind. I love and miss you, old friend. To the good old days.

Apollo and Denzien send their love,


To cliché, or not TOO cliché

No, that ‘to/too’ isn’t a heading typo in my paraphrase of Hamlet. In this article, I wanted to address a common criticism levelled at authors in many genres; especially fantasy. Do we embrace tropes done so many times they’ve become cliché? If so, at what point (if any) does cliché become too cliché?

Those closest to me are aware I’ve written many novels under various names in different genres. One of my most prolific is British Horror Fiction. Now, I’d like to say from the outset that I’m not unsympathetic to the plight of readers/reviewers who have to wade through the same warmed-over settings, plot devices, character types and elements time and again. I get it: your eyes glaze after a while. In horror, I tended to seek out interesting legends, settings, and aspects of human nature and beliefs to weave my tales around. Even when writing one of those ubiquitous haunted house novels, I adopted a particular spin to offer something new. However, the market for classic haunted house tales with all the expected hallmarks is as hungry as ever. Like successful billionaires featured in certain romance novels, they’re part of the furniture. Why? People enjoy ‘em, and there’s nowt as queer as folk! I’d suggest an element of comfort/pleasure with something they’ve enjoyed before is also a factor. A subconscious mental association.

Books like that sell, even though they’ve arguably been done to death. The first law of free market economics is to give people what they want. So is it bad or are you a sell-out for writing to market in such a fashion? How about if it’s what you also enjoy? I imagine you’d get a different response from whomever you asked, with no absolute ‘right’ or ‘wrong.’ It’s that false assertion of ‘right’ and ‘wrong’ I wanted to respond to, in hopes of encouraging budding novelists (especially fantasy novelists) who may cast aside beloved touchstones because they’ve been told to, rather than because they’re convinced they should.

One hugely successful fantasy novelist whose work I enjoy has been in the game since the late 1970s. If you’ve read any of his books, you’ll know he basically writes the same story every time with minor changes and different characters. Yet it works. Go figure.

My take on it? Write what you love. If that love finds its way into the pages, pruned and polished by a continually refined craft and thoughtful editing, you’ll discover your audience sooner or later.

What prompted this article was a couple of posts I read that ran something along the lines of ‘10/15/20 (insert number here) mistakes to avoid when writing your fantasy novel.’ If you’ve studied the craft of writing for any period, you’ll be aware most ‘rules’ are pseudo-rules at best. That doesn’t mean they’re without merit or unworthy of consideration. However, there are a lot of opinions out there that are just that. Or as my old college roommate used to say: “Opinions are like buttholes: everybody’s got one.” No, really, they have. I’m expressing mine right here (my opinion, not my butthole), and it’s no more or less valid than that of another. Take it or leave it.

After reading a couple of those articles, it soon became apparent their click-bait titles should more accurately have read:

10/15/20 (insert number here) favourite fantasy tropes that personally irk me, and I think I’m the big cheese with something to teach.’

Once you hit their list of ‘mistakes’ (I didn’t actually find any noteworthy writing mistakes detailed), things became hilarious. Yep, it was pretty much everything that makes classic fantasy, classic fantasy. I see. So, you love fantasy novels as long as they don’t feature dragons, elves, dwarves, goblins, orcs, magical items, epic quests, a European-style medieval setting, rustic inns, poems or songs? O-k-a-y… You’re about as believable as a nudist complaining over the product line in their local clothing store. What a crock! Time to read a different genre, perhaps? How about cookery books? Oh, wait; nope, the formulaic recipes would irk you too.

Now, I’m coming down a little hard on some of those articles. A few featured reasoned advice on avoiding info-dumps, copious flowery language, etc. Common recommendations across fiction writing. However, there’ll be young talent out there who will read stuff like that and believe they’re making ‘mistakes’ if they deviate from the self-aggrandising ‘wisdom’ on offer. If that’s you, MY opinion (and it is only that) would be: don’t believe a word of it.

I love originality in fiction. But, I also love familiarity. Several times I’ve read books where the author was clearly going out of their way to avoid all the classic things I desire/look for in a fantasy novel. The result: delight for some, I’m sure. The writing was excellent. But for me, it was like going to a favourite restaurant under new ownership, only to find everything I loved about the old place had been stripped away and replaced with less appetising offerings.

Another common criticism from the moaners is that levelled against characters with good morals. Don’t get me started on how much I despise books/films people have recommended to me because they were ‘dark,’ ‘edgy’ or ‘gritty.’ I’ve another word for them, and it rhymes with ‘trap.’ We all love interesting characters with a nuanced blend of dark and light comprising their thoughts, choices and motivations. However, one oft-forgotten role of fiction – and especially fantasy fiction – is its ability to transcend the negativity of our present world and offer ideals worthy of aspiration in a blessed escape from doom and gloom. Does that mean every hero has to be a saint? Of course not. But I don’t buy the trend of making everything as dark as possible that has crept into the entertainment industry over the last twenty-plus years. If you love it, that’s great. It’s not my cup of tea.

I’ve been a fantasy nut since I was a kid. Yet, it’s only recently I decided to branch out into producing books within the genre. Why? Partly to hone my craft in other areas before I approached a subject I hold in such high regard, despite my adoption of certain clichés. But also because I found a story I wanted to tell that felt original, yet arose from common themes woven throughout civilizational rise and fall in our own world. ‘The Arisendia Chronicles’ gave me the ability to explore those themes in a neutral environment, and take them wherever I wished.

No doubt were any of the article authors I’ve mentioned to review my fantasy books, they’d rip them up for arse paper. That’s okay. I’m a big boy, and I’ve been in the writing game long enough for it not to faze me. There will be many who’ll share their viewpoints. Their negative feedback on my work may help other such souls avoid something unsuited to their tastes. At the end of the day, that’s the point of an honest review.

Others will find favourite fantasy elements worthy of merit, encasing an emotive narrative with obvious parallels to the western world as I write this. Still more won’t like that similarity, because they can’t stand it when anything gets close to a suicidal truth they wish to obfuscate. A truth that may ultimately cost them everything precious, as it did the masses brainwashed by the Falinorian regime in my books. One which has ended legendary cultures and empires throughout our own history. It makes great inspirational fuel for imaginative storytelling.

So, budding fantasy writers, I encourage you to be bold and balance your own inner guidance with considered input from external voices. Ultimately, make sure you know whose ‘voice’ is controlling/speaking through your work, and you won’t go far wrong; not even if your favourite literary dwarf puts his feet up at a wayside inn, pats his magical axe, and breaks into a rousing song. Who cares if anyone rolls their eyes? Do you love it? Then write on…

In other news, ‘This Unquenchable Flame,’ the second of ‘The Arisendia Chronicles’ is now available for Kindle pre-order on Amazon, with the third due for a similar treatment within the next month.

Genesis of a Fantasy World

In the beginning there were words… Hmm, think I’ve read something like that before.

When I commenced building Arisendia, I focused on two small adjoining continents separated by twin estuaries acting as a natural canal between eastern and western oceans. These estuaries meet at the impressive Olandran city of Falinor. Assuming a short boat ride between both landmasses interrupting daily progress of around 15 – 20 miles, you could walk or ride from northern Olandra to southern Junziel in under two months – terrain, weather and wildlife permitting. The decision to bring the occupants into such close proximity was driven mainly by the broader story arc I wanted to shape in the first three Chronicles: the loss and recovery of faith, family, freedom and cultural identity amidst tiny provincial kingdoms large enough for epic adventure, yet close enough to be considered neighbours.

Throughout the books I allude to older races and civilizations, while mentioning ancestors who sailed across the Ostborne Ocean from somewhere colloquially referred to as ‘The Dreamlands.’ Yes, the world of Arisendia is of course much larger than Olandra and Junziel. By doing this I’ve deliberately left scope to expand on the geography, narrative, characters, history, races and cultures while still rooting them in that which readers will become familiar with during the initial three titles. Expansion can occur gradually without leaving my audience behind, lost in a mass of new information or grappling with unfathomable distances and innumerable new places and names.

On 1st December 2022, you’ll be able to travel to Arisendia yourself for the first time. Already the Kindle version of the initial Chronicle is available for pre-order at Amazon. Two sequels are also due before Christmas, along with accompanying paperback versions.

I hope you enjoy the journey as much as I have.