Publication Date: November 2, 2012
Genre: Young Adult Fantasy/Coming of Age
The Realm of Feyron has always been. It is the origin of all things magical, the axis point where all the worlds meet. Once, in days gone by, there were many gateways within the Temple of Pyli connecting the Worlds Beyond seeded with magic to their home. Now many gateways have flickered out, and Feyron weakens as the magic fades and the Guardians are lost.
For the first time in over three hundred years a Dreamweaver has come of age and is tasked with contacting the Guardians. When she awakens in the night after a vision of her best friend lost and alone, injured in the snows at the top of the Crystal Mountains, she seeks out the Sacred Fire in the Temple in an attempt to call forth more information. A voice calls out from the fire, "Dreamweaver, you are summoned." An image appears of an ancient path through the Mist Shrouded Forest leading to a hidden gate into the Crystal Caverns below the mountains. The Guardians have summoned her on a quest that will take her to the four realms of light within Feyron in search of answers and aid.
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Watching the full moon over the garden, she heard the call of a night bird and smiled. The warmth flowed through her, surrounding her, and as the halo of gold faded, a hawk swooped unnoticed from Soifra’s bedroom window, streaking across the garden and into the forest, following the cold breeze back towards its source in the Crystal Mountains. Once she was sure she was well enough away from the small homes that fanned out from the manor, she rose above the trees in her favorite form: the black dragon. In her elation, she began to sing, and somewhere ahead of her, something answered back.
At first there was just one call off in the distance, and she wasn’t quite sure if she had heard it, or imagined it, or if it was an echo in the breeze, but then it came again, strong and sure, and it seemed closer. Soifra flew higher, calling out again, and this time she was sure she heard more than one song. The songs called to her, pulled her, filling her with elation, and she followed them higher and farther. She knew she had to see them, the real dragonkin, the guardian children. If she just saw them, she could go back and tell her grandmother the Guardians were real. They simply had to go to the mountains to find them.
She reached a height where the clouds were thick, and her world went grey, consumed by the cold mists around her. After trying to follow the songs for a short while, twisting and turning as different voices called from different places, she could no longer tell left from right, up from down, and she began to feel afraid. Heart racing, she could no longer think clearly, and in her panic she picked one call and began to follow it, faster and faster, desperate to leave the clouds, to be able to see. The calls suddenly stopped. She had begun to turn her head this way and that, straining to hear any sound, when she slammed into the side of the mountain with a bone crushing thud, and fell unconscious to the cold, crystal ledge far below.
Publication Date: May 10, 2013
The Guardians have awakened after the Time of Sleep and returned to renew the magic with the clans of Faie. At the request of the Guardian, Lord Grypos, Keeper of Knowledge, the Master Scholar travels through the Outer Gateway with craftsmen and apprentices to coordinate the repairs of the once great oasis that houses the ancient archives of knowledge known as the Island in the Sands.
As the summer wanes and the oasis begins to return to its former glory, the Guardian calls the Master Scholar to the meditation room in the wee hours of the night to discuss a journey. In the fire an image flickers of the red desert sands speeding past, a land of grey beyond the desert, and a cavern of twilight behind an obsidian wall. “Arwyn and Shyamal are to go there for me to seek out that which was once mine.”
What starts as a seemingly simple journey becomes an adventure with life threatening consequences as the two are unexpectedly joined by their friends on a journey far from home beyond the realms of light in a realm that few within the clans of Faie knew could even be reached.
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Teagan watched the lion tail flick back and forth as Lord Grypos talked. Knitting his brows, he replied slowly, as though thinking carefully about what to say. “The scholars are yours, as they always have been. I am pleased to make recommendations as to who might be best to help tend the Temple and Crystal Hall, and I believe Master Scribe Edmond is pleased with his choices at the Scriptorium for working within the Hall of Gifts. But surely you didn’t send for me at this hour to discuss which scholars will live at the archives after the summer has passed?”
“No.” Lord Grypos nodded as he turned to gaze into the fire. “I called you to discuss a journey.”
An image appeared in the fire of the red desert sands passing by as though seen while flying far above. The motion slowed as it dipped over the edge of a line of dunes that seemed to be the size of mountains. At the bottom the sand was an odd, pale grey, almost like a fine ash. A strange brown dome protruded from the sand not far from the gargantuan dune, a lone scrubby skeleton of a long dead tree standing nearby.
With a jerk, the motion rushed forward again until it reached a wall of solid black. Tall and smooth, the obsidian filled the horizon as far as the eye could see. In a flash of white light the wall opened, only to swallow the view in darkness until a great lake appeared in a landscape of twilight, twinkling lights shining from the darkness on the far side.
“Arwyn and Shyamal are to go there for me. They will cross my realm, traverse the Great Expanse, pass through the hidden door to the Path of Darkness, and follow the path until they reach the rocky shore. They must pass over the Waters of Night into the Village of the Unknown. There they will seek out what was once mine.”
Publication Date: December 20, 2014
Old relics and have stories of their own. Sometimes they contain adventures waiting to be sparked and journeys bursting to begin.
The Box of Melodies was left with Clan Caris by Lady Oyisha, daughter of the mists, for care and keeping. A series of visions revealing the last desperate moments of a forgotten clan - the loss of their gateway to Feyron and the escape of a lone traveler holding the box - spurs a handful of adventuresome youth on a trek through the Lesser Forest where they inadvertently cause a ripple through the mists with unintended consequences.
A few of the youth find themselves on an unexpected journey to a World Beyond, lost in mist and shadow, where misunderstanding and suspicion lead to danger and darkness. Forgotten histories are discovered, clan secrets are revealed, and old alliances are remembered as the families of the lost seek to discover where the youth have been drawn by the memories within the Mists of Time.
Shyamal sat cross-legged beneath the canopy of the great oak not three paces from the gifting shrine, arms crossed and coal black eyes smoldering. Arwyn sat on the cool, hard-packed earth beside Shyamal, legs curled to the side. Leaning against his shoulder, she wrapped her arm through his and patted his hand.
“Don’t feel put out with Neria. This isn’t exactly the place for us to be tiring ourselves out, and she’s already projected two large visions today. I’m surprised Master Scholar didn’t make her drink a restorative and nap after the first one.” With a sigh and a nod, Shyamal relaxed and they watched as Neria and Zilya began to concentrate.
Orabelle leaned against the mountainside near the archway, watching with excitement. She always enjoyed watching the visions form when Neria worked. Orabelle thought the scholars could really benefit by having more members from Vocare, especially with all of the lovely antiquities coming to the Crystal Hall. She closed her eyes and wondered what the scholars could learn from the other relics, if this one music box had so much to teach them.
The alcove suddenly grew darker as the wisps flickered out, vanishing back into the realm from whence they came. A soft mist began to roll out from the darkened alcove as Shyamal closed his eyes and sighed, letting the mists call to him. Orabelle stepped away from the archway as the mist began to gather about her feet. She stumbled, sliding down the smooth, sloped wall of crystal into a mossy depression. As her hand brushed over the odd, milky crystal of this area during her fall, a small trickle of water began to flow down the face of the mountain. A pool gathered beneath her, oddly warm, not the usual chill from an underground spring. She closed her eyes, hands glowing blue as her magic sought the long forgotten spring that seemed to call out to her, asking to remember the sun.
A vision slowly formed in the mists. A small figure crawled from the forest pool as the waters bubbled up from below, her once smoky grey clothing now darkened from being soaked through during her travel, and her red-gold hair streamed rivulets of water. Although the deep river was as warm as a new drawn bath, it provided no pause as it flowed ever onwards, and the girl emerged, choking and retching as she gasped for breath.
Through blurred vision, the exhausted girl could just make out the soft glow of the white marble within the jewel-toned alcove. She crawled across the forest floor, every breath a searing pain as she forced herself to move when all she wanted was to drift away, to forget the horror of this day, and rest. She pulled herself up the cold stone, hardly even able to balance on her knees, until she could just reach across the flat top. Slowly she pulled the cloth bound around her chest and pushed a parcel onto the pedestal, the twisted cloth falling away to reveal a pale, wooden box.
Orabelle sat in the growing pool, the water spreading ever farther from the once forgotten spring. Her eyes were misty white and the blue of her water magic nearly reached her elbows as she continued to call the water forth as though she were the little naiad in the vision Neria had called before. Shyamal and Arwyn sat, arms still linked, nearly engulfed by the mists. Neither of them noticed the water beneath the mists creeping towards the alcove, the pool slowly covering Zilya’s feet as she stood in the exact spot where the girl in the projected vision clung to the marble gifting shrine.
Elwynne had been slowly edging forward until he was well past Shyamal and Arwyn. Enthralled by the projecting vision, he felt like he could almost touch the girl. She looked so familiar, like he knew her, but between being all wet and deathly pale from nearly drowning and the odd, shadowy nature of the vision, it was hard for him to make out who she looked like. If she would just crawl away from the shadows, then he could see her better without disturbing Zilya as she shared her magics with Neria.
Oisin stood with his back pressed to the great oak. Something about the solidness of the oak brought him comfort. It was real, and present, and not part of the mists. If he had stopped to think on it, he may have wondered if the oak had witnessed these events when they occurred before, but he had little training in the magics beyond those of clan Caris, having only attended summer academy for the first time last season, and the littlest sparks that make up all of nature were not yet known to him. Something in the back of his mind kept poking him until he was covered in goosebumps and shivering. There was something wrong with these mists. They seemed to flow in from everywhere, but there was nothing nearby to generate them.
‘The mist, it shouldn’t be here at all,’ he thought.
Just then, the girl in the vision shuddered, whispered words lost in her gasping sigh as she slid to the soft forest soil at the base of the pedestal, rolling onto her back, her arm flopping loosely as she hit the ground. A flash of light burst from within the jeweled alcove, followed by the ripple of the shock wave through the mists that rattled the very crystal columns of the mountains themselves, the vibrations starting an eerie resonation that echoed through the Lesser Forest and shook the trees, raining leaves and debris in a wide arch around them before tossing those within the still swirling mists to the ground.
Diana lives in the balmy climate of the US south with her husband, two children, two dogs, two cats, and a cantakerous rabbit. She enjoys reading, sewing (clothing, costuming, and experimental toy making), and RPG games. (She grew up with the old school paper/pencil style of gaming, but has transitioned happily to the highly interactive world of video games.)
The idea for Feyron started with a map, a place for her daughter to tell stories and live out storytelling role playing adventures with her friends. The lore grew around the map, for every world needs lore if you are going to “live” there. The idea for a series, Tales from Feyron, grew out of the lore, for if you’re going to invent a world, you may as well play there too. The stories are continuing to grow through the various historical ages of Feyron and may yet “ripple” outwards to the Worlds Beyond touched by magic.
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