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Book Review: Exmortus: Temples Diabolic

A powerful hand grabbed him by his shirt and lifted him back onto the dock. Ash's limp body was thrown roughly to the ground, the key snatched from his hand. A moment later Ash was again airborne and moving rapidly down the docks, watching the white demon fly over the water towards him.

A weak rasp escaped Ash's throat.

“Kill me.”

A shrill laugh echoed off the stones of the small alleyway they had ducked into.

“The most exquisite death is a long life full of powerless regret, Ashley of House Xavier.”

Todd Maternowski. Exmortus: Temples Diabolic (Kindle Locations 2304-2308). Unknown.

 

I've heard it said that you can never run away from your past. The things we do stick with us for the rest of our lives, even when we try to hide and create a new life for ourselves. When Ash left his life behind him, he was still very young, but his transgressions were not forgotten and in the midst of his new life being destroyed by men and gods alike, an old enemy has found him and is determined to teach him exactly what it means to suffer.

 Exmortus: Temples Diabolic is the second book in Todd Maternowski's Towers of Dawn series, and it picks up right where the first book left off and the frenetic pace continues on with all of the brutality I've come to expect from this series. The gritty, brutal, ugly reality of Ash's life is shared with enough detail to make some readers flinch from the pages, but it is that very discomfort that gives the story, and the writing, its power. The author does an incredible job describing Ash's pain and the tortured decisions of a youth still holding onto the hope of something more than pain and death.

Like the first book, the characters are well defined, unique and a perfect fit for the dark, violent setting that Exmortus takes place in. When the end of the book arrived it felt like a natural place to break, but I couldn't help but want more.

You can buy the book in Kindle or Paperback here: Exmortus Amazon.

Visit the Author's website:  www.towersofdawn.com

 

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Book Review: The Sword and the Flame: The Forging

Gilliam rested his hand on mace’s handle, straining his hearing for another sound. After a few seconds the cleric’s patience was rewarded when voices drifted through the night air towards them. He glanced at his nephew and was pleased to see he heard the voices as well. Any further questions would have to wait as the fighter leapt to his feet and headed for the sound which began to sound like a scuffle. Gilliam said a quick prayer to Fallor before lifting his mace in preparation for the upcoming fight.

They could hear the shrill voice of one of them ahead. A child, judging from its pitch. No, she was a Halfling. Berek could tell by the sight of her seconds before one of the men made a joke about Halflings. If it’d been another time and place he would’ve congratulated himself on identifying her, it was by no means a simple task to do so. Instead, he concentrated on reaching the pair being held. There were only four bandits but he doubted they could reach them in time without allowing his uncle to learn of his ability.

Gilliam sat crouched next to his nephew waiting for what, he prayed, would be the appropriate time to intervene. While he lacked the ability to see at night, like Berek claimed he could, his hearing was excellent. After hearing the bandit’s leader talk of killing the magic user, nothing wrong with that in his mind, he tensed. Like most clerics, he didn’t trust magic users. In fact, he hated and feared them. A cleric’s power came from their deity, they were nothing more than a conduit forthe power they could yield. Mages, warlocks, druids, and other magic users took their power from the world around them and sought to be like the Gods. Indeed, he was certain that was their ambition despite what claims they made to the contrary.

Sensing the time to act was nearly upon them; Gilliam glanced at his nephew to see if Berek could sense it as well. It was the first time the cleric ever saw his nephew’s face when he was using his night vision. The surprise at the sight of Berek’s eyes forced a gasp from the well traveled cleric. “By Fallor… Your eyes…” He leaned backwards away from the soft glowing emptiness of the fighter’s eyes. The bush couldn’t hold the weight of the cleric resulting in a chorus of breaking twigs, branches, and a dull thump on the soft ground.

Berek watched his uncle for a moment, this wasn’t how he wanted him to find out and neither of them were ready. He wanted to say something, anything to calm the terrified look on Gilliam’s face but the sound of the bush gave away their location. Without wasting another second, Berek raised his hand and mumbled a strange word. Five balls of light, no larger than an insect launched from each of his finger tips towards the form farthest from them. The Halfling’s attack was hidden from him by the positioning of the bandit he attacked. At least it was well timed, he thought rushing through the brush towards the remaining two.

Bialois, CP (2012-03-27). The Sword and the Flame: The Forging (pp. 78-81).  . Kindle Edition.

 

Sometimes our friends and family are all we have. They are there for us when we need them, whether we like it or not, and in return we are there for them. Sometimes this arrangement costs us far more than we could ever imagine, but we would do it all again for the ones we love. Continue reading


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Book Review: Charlinder's Walk

"We're not 'afraid of' anything except giving you lot the idea that there is anything to talk about involving your God. Just who are you to decide what anyone should be talking about around here, anyway?" demanded Miriam.

"Maybe we do it out of concern for your souls," Ruth offered, still just as composed as ever above her array of slender knitting needles and two-ply yarn. "Maybe we want you to start talking about what led to the Plague because we don't want you to suffer eternal damnation in Hell for your actions."

Charlinder wanted to run home and bury himself under a pile of Eileen Woodlawn's writings, but one look at Phoebe's face showed him what he felt: they just couldn't look away.

Miriam began laughing again. "And who's going to tell us what kind of behavior is going to send us to Hell? You?" she scoffed. "That is, assuming your promises of Heaven and Hell are places that really exist, which I'm far from convinced they are, but you know how I really feel about what caused the Plague, and what your God may have had to do with it?"

"No, Miriam, tell me how you really feel," Ruth said flatly.

"I just don't care one way or the other. I don't see why anyone gives a lamb's tail about what caused a disease that snuffed itself out almost a hundred-twenty years ago, when we have much more important things to do than argue over what might have happened. The Plague is in the past; it is history. We need to take care of the present, and if you have enough time on your hands to be quibbling about something that far in the past, then you're not doing enough to get this farm moving into the future."

Phoebe looked extremely impressed with Miriam's rant, but Ruth was unfazed.

"But what kind of future will we have if we just make the same mistakes that brought God's anger on our ancestors? How many of us will survive another Plague?"

"And again I ask," Miriam continued, "Who are you to know what any supposed God wants us to do, any more than the rest of us? And have you ever found it a little strange how your whole argument for why we should love God, and worship Him, and build our lives around bending to His will and honoring His divine plan, is that He supposedly brought about a disease that killed over six and a half billion people in less than two years? Have you ever considered how that looks to those of us who aren't impressed with your reasoning for why God even exists in the first place? Any God who would do that to His creations for disobeying a moral code that He never even bothered to communicate to them is, as far as I care, not a God who deserves even our respect, much less our worship."

This time, even Ruth was shocked. She finally blinked and recovered her voice enough to say, "There doesn't have to be any mystery in what God expects from us. It's a pity that none of our original survivors left a Bible in good enough condition to last this long, but all you have to do is pray, and listen to what He says."

"Except I don't think you, or any of the other Faithful, want us to pray," Miriam told her. "You don't want us to listen to voices only we can hear, and you don't want us to discuss what we think may have happened over a hundred years ago. You want us to listen to you. And that's why the rest of us don't want to have this conversation. It doesn't matter why our ancestors saw all their family and friends die of the Plague, because at this point, there's nothing we can do to change the fact that it happened. Arguing about what they did to bring that disease on themselves isn't going to make our children's lives any easier or better. The only people who have any reason to care about why the Plague happened are long since dead."

It is all too easy to ignore the arguments of someone you disagree with. Their argument falls on deaf ears as your counter-argument will be equally unheard. It is a rare thing to take the steps neccesary to prove your side or to disprove the other. Continue reading


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