"Good work, Balancer." I frowned at the title. "All I did was transport her here, Raile." "Yes, so you did," he agreed in a tone that clearly didn’t agree with me at all. "Perhaps you don’t consciously realize this, Garth, but its little things like this that are restoring balance to Chahir. No task can be done in just one stroke of effort; it takes many strokes, and much sustained effort." He’s right. I started reviewing all of the things I had done over the past two years, memories flicking through my head almost too fast to follow.
"Enjoyable Story if yet tiring with repeated cliches and over used sayings"
Take one newly trained Fire Mage. Make him the first (sane) Fire Mage that's been born in the past two hundred years. Have him leave home and venture into the Empire of Sol. Add one powerful, curious, fire-eating dragon. Fire Mage Haikrysen never imagined that he would be adopted out of the blue by a dragon. But then, he never thought he'd find a permanent home in the northern section of Sol, working as a firefighter either.
"a very funny book"
I looked, really looked at Trev'nor. Trev'nor has always been special, a child prodigy in a life that had no child prodigies. My head was swimming with questions after Xiaolang's revelation. Who was the boy we were to rescue, and why was Trev'nor so important for that boy?
"Good Ideas but not thought threw"
This is the final book of the Advent Mage Cycle. Here is the conclusion to Garth's amazing story.
"A Fitting End"
I'm the first Mage born in 200 years. I've turned a city into an island, erected a barrier around an entire country, and awakened a war hero from a 200 year old slumber. Prophecies have marked my coming. Kings and nations have begged for my aid in times of peril. I hold the power to create and destroy nations. My name is Rhebengarthen. To my friends and family, I'm just Garth. The world knows me as the Advent Mage. And despite the rumors that you might have heard about me, this is what really happened.
"A story for a younger audience"
He had known this day would come. No man could escape the entire might of the Sovran forever. He just found it humorous that it was an enemy of the Sovran that had caught him instead. Bound, kneeling before a queen whom he had hounded for a straight year, he should have been anxious. Or at least a little worried. Instead, a strange sense of relief filled him. It was over. His mad escape from Brindisi's justice was over. "That is a very calm expression on your face, General Darius Bresalier," she observed. Her tone was idle, but her eyes were as sharp as a hawk's.
"I was stopped by a messenger from Blackstone," Sylvie said simply and held out a folded sheet of paper that had been sealed with black wax, the crest of the main guild of the city impressed into it. "Seems urgent." Siobhan broke the seal with a quick twist of her fingers before unfolding the paper. Deepwoods had strong ties to Blackstone, the master guild of Goldschmidt, and often took on minor jobs for them. To be given a message like this wasn't unusual.
Method actors inhabit their characters. Method writers do, too. John goes to elaborate lengths to study the habits, physiology, and needs of a vampire. From the mundane to the emotional, he wants to lend a sense of realism to his horror writing that goes beyond the pale. But is the undead life all it's cracked up to be? Can he last a month inside this experiment?