£5.00
175 in stock
By Errol Edward França Hewitt
ISBN: 978-1-78382-020-7
Published: 2013
Pages: 101
Key Themes: Mental Health, Fantasy, Fiction, Adventure
Description
The story starts with a prophecy. The lord of death is aware that time is seeming different to him. There is something not quite right and though he has held the position, of lord of death, for millennia he is beginning to lose his sanity. The reason for this is not immediately known and Dorian Bluefeather is given a place at the castle of fateful night to learn under the tutelage of the masters there. Unexpectedly, Dorian and some of his friends are summoned to go on a quest that may save the lord of death from madness, but also a disease might also be unleashed which could spread throughout the land killing thousands. So, the fate of the lord of death and of the people of the land is uncertain. Will Dorian and the other chosen succeed to save their world? and, will the lord of death lose his sanity? Whatever the outcome Dorian has his grandfather’s magical sword called steelfang which may aid him on his adventures.
About the Author
Errol Edward França Hewitt was born in London in 1972, April 30th. He was diagnosed with schizophrenia when he was twenty one and is currently taking medication for this. His mother is Portuguese and his father is Irish. He has had a passion for writing since the age of 12 writing roleplaying adventures for his friends while at school. He continues to write to this day with a preference for science fiction and fantasy. At the moment he lives in the UK in Bristol. In 2011 Chipmunkapublishing published a book by him called DNA Weaponry. Project Stealthblade 545446.
Book Extract
PREFACE:
Adorn a crown of virtue surrounded by the night,
a breath of life giving hushes is not without the light.
My soul is violet black in neon, with wings upon despair,
a mist of curls entrances, uplifts a kiss in prayer.
My lady, you will be, above the jasmine’s shade,
ivory flowers of beauty, depart all doubts were made.
1
The Lord of Death stood watching over the morning sun, next to him was the imp Faramel, who squinted at the early rays of light. “So, the prophecy speaks of this time and this place?” the little imp said.
“Yes,” the Lord replied, “Look over there.” He pointed to a house which lay on the hill. “This is where the child is going to be born.”
They made their way along the dirt path past hedges and fields travelling on a thin mist that was cloud like, though not as high up, they were inches off the ground. A flame could be seen through the top window and the sound of a baby crying out cut through the air, coming from within. The mist rose up so the Lord and the imp could see in. A mother held her baby which was wrapped in a soft blanket and she kissed the newborn’s head as a man sat on the bed next to his eldest child and spoke of blessings from the creator for giving them a healthy baby. The man thought he heard a sound by the window so he turned around, but nothing was there except he heard a strange whispering as if the wind was trying to speak. He stood up and opened the window wide to let in the cool air, looking at the new light of day and the tint of shade brightening.
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