Writer for hire.
$0.15/word or flat fee, minimum job $250.
Contact to discuss.
Contact to discuss.
Lore, setting, and myth creation. Vignettes and short stories to breathe life into your project. Sample my writing via my debut novel, Tattered Pawns, available (with free samples) via Kindle and Audible.
Listen to the trailer + first three chapters from the audiobook, narrated by Nick Mercer:
Tattered Pawns | Chapter 1
The Magus’ mad cackle echoed down the dank stone hall, a mirthless sound that promised pain and delivered terror.
It gave me the willies, that’s for damn sure.
I rolled my eyes as I felt my way past another snarling gargoyle statue in the near-dark. Warlocks and the gothic motif, every time. No explaining it.
A clangor of clashing steel came from up ahead—my client, no doubt, making his move. Or at least ordering a subordinate to make it for him.
I quickened my pace, trying to step softly across the cobbled, rough-hewn floor—just because everyone else was causing a racket didn’t mean I was going to start. I’m a professional.
Something squelched underfoot, and I almost lost my balance. I stopped, hiked up a trouser leg, and plucked a tiny firesteel from my boot. I struck it against the wall, the brief flash of sparks dancing across the floor as a myriad of chaotic reflections. I crouched down, the earthen musk of the decrepit old fortress mingling with something sickly and metallic in my nostrils, and struck the steel again. My suspicions were confirmed in a telltale flash of scarlet. Blood.
“Well, that’s…not great,” I muttered, trying to push the implications to the back of my mind. After months of insults, jabs, and bickering, I didn’t harbor much fondness for the wannabe-hero Count Grendesian or his merry band of brown-nosing sycophants, but…I wouldn’t wish the Magus’ preferred flavor of arcane dismemberment on anybody.
I hurried on, slinking up to a large, overwrought double door and the end of the corridor—the flickering firelight from the inner sanctum beyond practically a beacon in the gloom. The telltale cacophony of combat sounded from within: rattling metal, panicked shouts, and the crackling discharges of magical havoc. Something had blasted one of the door’s hinges into shrapnel, and it hung drunkenly ajar. I peeked through the opening.
"Yield, scum!" bellowed Count Grendesian, brandishing his sword toward somebody out of my view. "We have you outnumbered. You won’t win this fight.”
I furrowed my brow, taking in the room. Several bodies, and a few stains that might have been bodies, littered the ground around him. His remaining bodyguards formed a nervous ring, swords and spears held in shaking, white-knuckled hands. That numerical advantage still technically existed, but it wasn’t trending in his favor.
Still, nothing boosts confidence like incompetence. “Your reign of terror is over, fiend,” the Count continued.
It took all I had not to audibly sigh. Sure; the clean-cut, square-jawed Count Melodrama struck a properly heroic figure, gleaming in his gold-and-silver armor but…what was he doing? Trying to get in a catchphrase? Blighted furies, save me from amateurs. He was the only real mage in the group. All that posturing was going to do was leave him open for--
A thundering crack shook the stone, and a flash of baleful red light filled the room. Yeah, damn it, there it was—the whole contingent of remaining troops, gone. Incinerated, by the smell of it. That’s why you don’t take a time-out for theatrics. The bards can always add a stirring speech to your story after you live through it.
Grendesian was unscathed—if considerably less enthusiastic than he had been a moment before—now curled into a quivering heap on the floor. Mage or no, I suspected that his very expensive, very enchanted armor had done more to save his miserable hide than any quick spell-work on his part.
"Stupid little man," spoke the Magus, still out of my sight. "Such hubris. You think you have stormed my lair? Fool. Flea. I could have crushed you from existence at any moment this night. I wanted you to stand at the center of my power. I wanted to see you die. I wanted to watch as you realized you had enraged a god."
That would be my cue, then.
I tried to burst through the door, but rebounded off it with a grunt; the lock on the in-tact half still attended to its duties with a vigor.
“Really?” I asked no one in particular, giving it a shove that just caused it to rattle. I shifted to the damaged side, and tucked my shoulder against it, heaving with all my might. I’m a stocky fellow—sturdy, I like to think—but the damaged slab of hardwood and cast iron put up a fight for every inch, dragging along the floor with a horrific squeal as I forced it open. Finally, I was able to squeeze through, stumbling into the room with a flurry of curses and an absolute lack of grace.
So much for an entrance.
The Magus towered above us, standing on a dais at one end of the room, his head cocked as if perplexed at my display. He certainly looked the part, foreboding in ornate, sinister armor: all skulls and pointy bits. He wore a long, billowing robe the color of midnight, and—a nice touch, I thought—an actual haze of darkness surrounded his head and shoulders, flecked through with floating cinders. It was like his shoulder blades were the site of a tiny forest fire. Very black-wizard-chic.
It was hard to tell through the big, demonic skull-helm he wore, but I thought he looked incredulous.
I waved, strolling to stand between him and the Count.
“Who dares—”
“Just a second,” I told him, turning to eyeball Grendesian. “You okay?”
Before the Count could reply, the Magus’ patience ran out. He screamed, drawing up his will and hurling a spell laced with shadows and hellfire straight toward me. I had nowhere to go.
I snapped my fingers, pushing my aura out with a mild mental effort. The Magus’ spell hit an invisible wall a few yards away from his outstretched…hands? Claws? Talons. Must’ve been talons, in that getup. The fire and shadow fizzled and twitched out of existence, fading back into the Ether.
There was another pregnant pause, interrupted only by Grendesian’s whimpering.
The Magus tried again, this time summoning sickly, acid-green tendrils of energy from the walls and floor to lash out at me, their edges gleaming like razors. He was rewarded with similar results.
“I said I’ll be with you in a minute,” I barked at him, snapping my fingers again and dumping willpower into my aura. It rippled across the room and slammed into the Magus. His big creepy death-haze vanished and he staggered, crumpling to the ground. Suddenly deprived of the magical energies he relied on, he wasn’t strong enough to stay upright in that ensemble.
“There,” I grumbled, stepping over to where the Count was curled up as tight as his armor would allow. “Hey? Chief? You alright?”
His tear-streaked, now-blotchy face snapped up to meet my gaze. “Where. Were. You!” he hissed through clenched teeth, rage visibly bubbling up behind the terror.
“I’m sorry about your men—”
“I could have DIED!” He screeched, his voice bubbling on all the phlegm in his throat as he continued to sob freely.
I frowned. “I told you to wait for me while I checked the annex.”
“We had him cornered!”
I gestured at the carnage around him. “Clearly.”
“Are you insinuating that this is my fault?” He heaved, clawing at my trousers and tunic as he started to hyperventilate. “You fucking freak! How dare you. How dare you, I’ll have you fucking h—”
I slapped him hard across the cheek. He began to seethe and hiss something else, so I followed it up with a backhand to the temple. Really put some shoulder into it. He fell back to the battle-scarred floor, stunned to silence.
“Are we going for three?” I asked, hand cocked back and ready to strike again. The Count deflated, shivering with adrenaline and terror. “I told you to wait, you pompous idiot, and you didn’t. Now your men are dead, and you found out you’re not invincible. Find a way to live with it. Or don’t, fuck it!” I threw my hands up as I turned to walk toward the Magus. “I get paid either way.”
The Magus was splayed out on the dais, half-leaning against the base of an obsidian monstrosity of a throne. I wondered if it had come with the place, or if he’d magicked it up one day out of concern that “ancient ruined fortress buried in mountain” didn’t scream “homicidal warlock with delusions of grandeur” loud enough. Mages and their self-image complexes, honestly. Who was he showing off for? The rats?
Oh. His victims, more likely. Before he got bored with them.
My expression darkened as I closed the gap. The Magus wriggled and struggled to get away, panting audibly under the weight of that ridiculous armor. I could feel him looking me over again and again, trying to make sense of what was happening--
—ah, there it was. The moment of realization.
"You…you can’t be. Where did they find…I’ll kill you. I’ll kill you!" I think he tried to bellow, but I’d taken the juice out of whatever spell had been amplifying him. It came out as a whimper, his voice cracking halfway through.
I drew my sword. It wasn’t as big or flashy as anything the Count’s crew had been carrying, but it hadn’t let me down yet. And hey, I was still alive, which I figured was an indication I was doing something right.
"Time to die, little god."
It gave me the willies, that’s for damn sure.
I rolled my eyes as I felt my way past another snarling gargoyle statue in the near-dark. Warlocks and the gothic motif, every time. No explaining it.
A clangor of clashing steel came from up ahead—my client, no doubt, making his move. Or at least ordering a subordinate to make it for him.
I quickened my pace, trying to step softly across the cobbled, rough-hewn floor—just because everyone else was causing a racket didn’t mean I was going to start. I’m a professional.
Something squelched underfoot, and I almost lost my balance. I stopped, hiked up a trouser leg, and plucked a tiny firesteel from my boot. I struck it against the wall, the brief flash of sparks dancing across the floor as a myriad of chaotic reflections. I crouched down, the earthen musk of the decrepit old fortress mingling with something sickly and metallic in my nostrils, and struck the steel again. My suspicions were confirmed in a telltale flash of scarlet. Blood.
“Well, that’s…not great,” I muttered, trying to push the implications to the back of my mind. After months of insults, jabs, and bickering, I didn’t harbor much fondness for the wannabe-hero Count Grendesian or his merry band of brown-nosing sycophants, but…I wouldn’t wish the Magus’ preferred flavor of arcane dismemberment on anybody.
I hurried on, slinking up to a large, overwrought double door and the end of the corridor—the flickering firelight from the inner sanctum beyond practically a beacon in the gloom. The telltale cacophony of combat sounded from within: rattling metal, panicked shouts, and the crackling discharges of magical havoc. Something had blasted one of the door’s hinges into shrapnel, and it hung drunkenly ajar. I peeked through the opening.
"Yield, scum!" bellowed Count Grendesian, brandishing his sword toward somebody out of my view. "We have you outnumbered. You won’t win this fight.”
I furrowed my brow, taking in the room. Several bodies, and a few stains that might have been bodies, littered the ground around him. His remaining bodyguards formed a nervous ring, swords and spears held in shaking, white-knuckled hands. That numerical advantage still technically existed, but it wasn’t trending in his favor.
Still, nothing boosts confidence like incompetence. “Your reign of terror is over, fiend,” the Count continued.
It took all I had not to audibly sigh. Sure; the clean-cut, square-jawed Count Melodrama struck a properly heroic figure, gleaming in his gold-and-silver armor but…what was he doing? Trying to get in a catchphrase? Blighted furies, save me from amateurs. He was the only real mage in the group. All that posturing was going to do was leave him open for--
A thundering crack shook the stone, and a flash of baleful red light filled the room. Yeah, damn it, there it was—the whole contingent of remaining troops, gone. Incinerated, by the smell of it. That’s why you don’t take a time-out for theatrics. The bards can always add a stirring speech to your story after you live through it.
Grendesian was unscathed—if considerably less enthusiastic than he had been a moment before—now curled into a quivering heap on the floor. Mage or no, I suspected that his very expensive, very enchanted armor had done more to save his miserable hide than any quick spell-work on his part.
"Stupid little man," spoke the Magus, still out of my sight. "Such hubris. You think you have stormed my lair? Fool. Flea. I could have crushed you from existence at any moment this night. I wanted you to stand at the center of my power. I wanted to see you die. I wanted to watch as you realized you had enraged a god."
That would be my cue, then.
I tried to burst through the door, but rebounded off it with a grunt; the lock on the in-tact half still attended to its duties with a vigor.
“Really?” I asked no one in particular, giving it a shove that just caused it to rattle. I shifted to the damaged side, and tucked my shoulder against it, heaving with all my might. I’m a stocky fellow—sturdy, I like to think—but the damaged slab of hardwood and cast iron put up a fight for every inch, dragging along the floor with a horrific squeal as I forced it open. Finally, I was able to squeeze through, stumbling into the room with a flurry of curses and an absolute lack of grace.
So much for an entrance.
The Magus towered above us, standing on a dais at one end of the room, his head cocked as if perplexed at my display. He certainly looked the part, foreboding in ornate, sinister armor: all skulls and pointy bits. He wore a long, billowing robe the color of midnight, and—a nice touch, I thought—an actual haze of darkness surrounded his head and shoulders, flecked through with floating cinders. It was like his shoulder blades were the site of a tiny forest fire. Very black-wizard-chic.
It was hard to tell through the big, demonic skull-helm he wore, but I thought he looked incredulous.
I waved, strolling to stand between him and the Count.
“Who dares—”
“Just a second,” I told him, turning to eyeball Grendesian. “You okay?”
Before the Count could reply, the Magus’ patience ran out. He screamed, drawing up his will and hurling a spell laced with shadows and hellfire straight toward me. I had nowhere to go.
I snapped my fingers, pushing my aura out with a mild mental effort. The Magus’ spell hit an invisible wall a few yards away from his outstretched…hands? Claws? Talons. Must’ve been talons, in that getup. The fire and shadow fizzled and twitched out of existence, fading back into the Ether.
There was another pregnant pause, interrupted only by Grendesian’s whimpering.
The Magus tried again, this time summoning sickly, acid-green tendrils of energy from the walls and floor to lash out at me, their edges gleaming like razors. He was rewarded with similar results.
“I said I’ll be with you in a minute,” I barked at him, snapping my fingers again and dumping willpower into my aura. It rippled across the room and slammed into the Magus. His big creepy death-haze vanished and he staggered, crumpling to the ground. Suddenly deprived of the magical energies he relied on, he wasn’t strong enough to stay upright in that ensemble.
“There,” I grumbled, stepping over to where the Count was curled up as tight as his armor would allow. “Hey? Chief? You alright?”
His tear-streaked, now-blotchy face snapped up to meet my gaze. “Where. Were. You!” he hissed through clenched teeth, rage visibly bubbling up behind the terror.
“I’m sorry about your men—”
“I could have DIED!” He screeched, his voice bubbling on all the phlegm in his throat as he continued to sob freely.
I frowned. “I told you to wait for me while I checked the annex.”
“We had him cornered!”
I gestured at the carnage around him. “Clearly.”
“Are you insinuating that this is my fault?” He heaved, clawing at my trousers and tunic as he started to hyperventilate. “You fucking freak! How dare you. How dare you, I’ll have you fucking h—”
I slapped him hard across the cheek. He began to seethe and hiss something else, so I followed it up with a backhand to the temple. Really put some shoulder into it. He fell back to the battle-scarred floor, stunned to silence.
“Are we going for three?” I asked, hand cocked back and ready to strike again. The Count deflated, shivering with adrenaline and terror. “I told you to wait, you pompous idiot, and you didn’t. Now your men are dead, and you found out you’re not invincible. Find a way to live with it. Or don’t, fuck it!” I threw my hands up as I turned to walk toward the Magus. “I get paid either way.”
The Magus was splayed out on the dais, half-leaning against the base of an obsidian monstrosity of a throne. I wondered if it had come with the place, or if he’d magicked it up one day out of concern that “ancient ruined fortress buried in mountain” didn’t scream “homicidal warlock with delusions of grandeur” loud enough. Mages and their self-image complexes, honestly. Who was he showing off for? The rats?
Oh. His victims, more likely. Before he got bored with them.
My expression darkened as I closed the gap. The Magus wriggled and struggled to get away, panting audibly under the weight of that ridiculous armor. I could feel him looking me over again and again, trying to make sense of what was happening--
—ah, there it was. The moment of realization.
"You…you can’t be. Where did they find…I’ll kill you. I’ll kill you!" I think he tried to bellow, but I’d taken the juice out of whatever spell had been amplifying him. It came out as a whimper, his voice cracking halfway through.
I drew my sword. It wasn’t as big or flashy as anything the Count’s crew had been carrying, but it hadn’t let me down yet. And hey, I was still alive, which I figured was an indication I was doing something right.
"Time to die, little god."
