Holy Order 2385 – Prion Caine


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Count to One Hundred and then Kill Yourself


Prion Morte Caine read the words with growing disbelief.

Count to One Hundred and then Kill Yourself

He read them again, just to be sure.

No, he had not misunderstood the command. Prophet Imran had just asked him to take his own life.


For what purpose?

He knew not.


He started counting, despite the fact that he had not fully processed the words before him. He was standing atop the small dais at the centre of Imran’s Providence. The Great Flame, a symbol of the Prophet, lay directly before him. His fellow Prions stood behind him. Half of them had already received their Holy Orders and had left to carry out their tasks.

None of those who had gone before him had struggled as he did now.


He thought back, to his childhood. Raised in New Kynda, he had been born in the embedded nation of Nome. His father had been a Nomad, a soldier who had fought to expand the nation’s diminutive territory. His mother had been from Vuria, having arrived during a mission of peace. However, after his father had been killed during a border conflict his mother had fled Nome, bringing him to her homeland.

Upon arriving, he had bumped into a Prion, and had been chosen.


Life at Origin had not been easy, at first. As the son of a foreigner he had been treated with suspicion and disdain, and he had been mocked by his peers on an almost daily basis.

Seeking solitude, he had often found himself in the servant’s quarters.

It was there that he had met Penella, a serving girl one year older than him. She had begged him to tell her stories about Nome and New Kynda, and in exchange she would soothe his wearisome heart.


For ten years they had courted, forbidden by Origin’s laws to advance their relationship. He had hoped that as a Prion, he might finally make her his wife. He had often dreamt of their future together, and of finally taking her to visit Nome.

Now, that future would never come to pass…

Because of Imran. Because of a scrap of parchment.

But… maybe he didn’t have to die…

Maybe he could refuse his Holy Order…


He could simply run away, meet Penella by the gate and be halfway across Vuria by dawn.

But that would mean spending the rest of his life as an outlaw. A traitor.

A failure.

He would be the first Prion to fail his Holy Order.

They would write of his failings. They would speak of his mistakes. How the boy from Nome hadn’t been up to the task. How the unfit Prion had failed the Prophet, and doomed the world to an uncertain future.


He could hear murmuring behind him. He was taking too long. Everyone else had read their Holy Order and departed in under a minute. He knew what they were thinking.

That he was too stupid to understand his order.

That he was too cowardly to complete his task.


He had trained for a decade for this moment.


Prophet Imran had asked this of him, and him alone. He would not fail.

He was a Prion. In life, and in death.

Penella would understand. His mother would understand… after a time.

Holding the parchment close to his chest, he stepped forward, towards the Great Flame.

Its heat warmed him, giving him strength.

One single step, and then everything would be over.

A single step, and he would be free.

And yet it would be the longest step of his life.

One hundred.

Summoning his courage, he stepped forward, into the flames.

To his surprise, he felt no pain. All he felt was a sense of peace.

He held the images of Penella and his mother in his mind as he felt the darkness come.

With his last breath, he shouted, as loud as he could.

“My guidance has ended!”

And then he was gone…

Read Be Good to find out if Prion Caine’s sacrifice had a deeper meaning!


Holy Order 2071 – Prion Slovek


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Destroy the Council of Faith

Prion Slovek held the spear up to the light, inspecting it for any flaws. It, along with the sword at his side and the dagger on his belt, would soon be used to commit the greatest atrocity in the history of the Flamelands.

But that was what his Prophet had asked of him, and he would not fail.

The Council of Faith was set to begin at Priarch’s Hour. It was now the Rising Hour, so he had only a short time left to prepare. He had poured over the plans to the meeting encampment, memorized the guard patrols and practiced his assault.

Forty men and women were set to gather in the central area, ten representatives from each major religion. Ten Prions, his brothers and sisters, waited nearby. Ten Kindred, followers of the abhorrent Church of the First Son, were located on the other side of the encampment. Ten Unifiers, faithful of the Hexacracy, had arrived just the day before. And finally, ten Lastborns, members of the Lusetan Faith, were already seated at the meeting grounds.

They had chosen a region of otherwise unimportant land for the greatest religious gathering the Flamelands had ever seen. It was equidistant from the religious capitals of the participating religions, favouring neither one nor the other.

For centuries, the various religions of the Flamelands had existed in a state of wariness. So long as no religion overstepped its boundaries and tried to convert the members of one of the other religions, then the fragile peace would hold. However, to many, this had not been enough.

And so, the Council of Faith had been proposed. A week -ten days- of meetings, cultural and religious exchanges and, out of sight, secret diplomacy on trade and borders. Not since the appearance of Prophet Imran had the world known such a momentous event.

And Prion Qumare Slovek was going to destroy it all.

He did not know why his Prophet had chosen him for this task, nor did he know why Imran had desired for the destruction of such a rare chance at peace amongst the various nations.

But then again, he did not care.

He was a Prion, an envoy of Priarch himself, and he would carry out the orders of his Prophet without question or hesitation.

Even if that meant killing others… or himself…


Prion Slovek watched as the envoys began to assemble. Even now, moments before they were to officially welcome one another as brothers, they stood apart. Undoing centuries of distrust and conflict would not be easy, apparently.

And he was only going to make it harder.

But those were thoughts that meant little now. He tried to steel his heart against the coming violence. He had spent ten years learning how to preach and spread peace, and now he would break every vow he had ever taken.

No… not ever vow. For he was obeying the word of his Prophet, a vow which superseded all others. No one knew what Prophet Imran had asked the thousands of Prions who had come before Slovek, but to his knowledge not a single one had failed him.

And he would not be the first.

However, as he took in the arriving men and women, he saw someone who did not belong.

Prion Mikal Suturb, the 2072nd Prion and his closest friend.

Why was he here?

They had grown up together, entered the Church together, and trained together…

Gesturing to a nearby servant, he asked, “Excuse me, but I thought that Prion Rella was supposed to be a part of the Council, so why is Prion Mikal here instead?”

The servant sadly shook her head before replying, “Prion Rella has departed this life and has begun her journey to Priarch. Her body was discovered only this morning, thus the last minute change to the delegation…”

“I see…” was all Prion Slovek could say.

His mission had not changed. He would destroy the Council of Faith… no matter who stood in his way…


“Greetings, ladies and gentlemen of the cloth!” one of the Unifiers announced. He had been chosen by lottery to open the meeting.

“May Priarch and his Divine Offspring watch over us with pride today, as we attempt to bring about understanding and peace to our splintered factions!” the Unifier, an old man with a perfectly trimmed beard and a mess of unruly hair everywhere else, addressed the gathered dignitaries.

They were still sitting apart from one another, keeping to their groups. Of course, if the Council was successful then by the week’s end all of this would change.

Not that Prion Slovek was going to give them that chance…

He checked his gear for the hundredth time. He was dressed as one of the guards, so as not to raise any suspicions. In a few minutes, he would begin the massacre. He had prepared well, and knew the meeting area better than his quarters back in Origin.

The great tent under which the Council was gathered had four exits, guarded by two guards each. If this had been a gathering of kings or nobles, then doubtlessly there would have been several armies’ worth of protectors. But this was merely a meeting between a handful of old men and women, and as such the guards were more of a formality than a requirement. Each delegation had been told to elect two men or women to serve as their guards, and each pair would guard one of the entrances.

His own guard partner, a stoic woman who had introduced herself as Mirrah the Merciless, lay dead in their shared tent. She had accepted the poisoned drink without a hint of suspicion, contrary to her earlier boasting of having the best sense of danger in the Flamelands.

He felt a pang of regret for her death, but he pushed it down to the deepest reaches of his conscience. There would be much more killing to come, before this day was done, and he could not be held up in mourning for each and every one he slew.

Refocusing on the Council, he saw that Prion Mikal had stood. His friend had always been a gifted orator, no doubt the reason for his last minute admission to the Council. He was currently telling the foreign dignitaries about the Plasmology, the Church’s account of the creation of the world and Priarch’s battle with his traitorous offspring. It was meant to bridge the gap between the assembled religions by showing that they had a shared history.

From the enraptured faces of the Kindred, Unifiers and Lastborns, it was working.

A few seconds later, however, Prion Mikal stopped talking.

He had seen something in one of the entrances.

Prion Slovek knew what it was, naturally, since he had been the one to start it. A great fire, encircling the tent, created using a set of carefully measured wicks and some very flammable oil which had been intended for the night lanterns.

With the flame wall in place, the Council would be trapped inside the tent and any outside help would be delayed until they could bring something to douse the flames.

The guards, having been reasonably trained, drew nearer to the unarmed dignitaries. However, they did not move as one, no doubt they still suspected the other pairs of being the perpetrators.

Hefting his spear, he charged forward, focused on the nearest guard pair. The first went down without a cry, not so for the second. But he had planned for this. Wrenching the spear clear from the corpse, he turned and threw, managing to impale two more guards.

It would seem that luck was on his side…

The final two guards put up more of a fight, breaking his spear in the process. But Eventually they too fell, one to the sword and the other to the dagger.

Wiping the blood off of both blades, he turned to the assembled men and women. They cowered before him, panic and fear evident on their faces.

“May you find your peace with Priarch, those of you who can, and for all others may you be lost to the Void!” he cried, as he leapt forward, wielding steel and death.

He would not stop, until all before him lay dead…


Prion Slovek was breathing heavily, the heat from the flames turning his lungs to ash. He had not realized how flammable the tent was, and as a result he was now surrounded by a fearsome inferno. From the gaps in the burning tent he could see scores of servants struggling to put out the blaze. He had lost his dagger and the use of his left arm to a stubborn Kindred, but he had almost accomplished his mission.

All but one of the Council was dead or dying.

Only Prion Mikal remained.

He was holding a sword in one trembling hand, taken from one of the fallen guards.

He too was breathing heavily.

He too bore numerous wounds and cuts, inflicted during their fierce exchanges.

But the wounds on his body were nothing compared to the pain on his face.

“Why?!? Why do this, Qumare!” he screamed, once again.

He had not answered him, fearing that if he did, he would fail at the last hurdle.

But between their wounds and the fire drawing closer, it would end one way or another.

He deserved to know, him most of all.

“I only do what my Prophet commands!” Prion Slovek screamed, tears running down his ashen face.

As the words reached Prion Mikal, however, his friend’s expression changed.

Amazingly, a smile broke out on his haggard face. With a simple movement, he threw away his sword and began walking forwards with his arms outstretched.

“Forgive me, my friend, but I have been most foolish. I read the words, but I did not understand them, until now. Prophet Imran has commanded me as well, and I too intend to do his bidding. Please, strike me down, and let us both bring an end to this,” he said, with a peaceful expression.

Prion Slovek struggled to bring up his sword. He thought that it would be easier, without Prion Mikal fighting back.

As it turns out, killing a man who wanted to be killed was harder than killing one who didn’t…

However, he had come too far to fail now. With tears clouding his vision, he brought his sword to bear, pointing it towards his friend’s heart.

Prion Mikal stepped closer, until the blade was pressing against the fabric of his robes. He reached out with both hands, clasping them around Prion Slovek’s.

“My guidance has ended,” he said, and then he pulled hard, driving the blade into his own chest.

He struggled for a moment.

And then he fell.

It was done. The Council of Faith had been destroyed, just as Prophet Imran had commanded.

He had carried out the will of his Prophet, but why then, did he feel so wretched?

He was aware of men breaching the flames, bearing buckets of sand and wielding swords. He saw them coming towards him, swords raised, but he did not care.

Throwing down his own weapon, he sunk to his knees. Placing a hand on his friend’s chest, he wept.

As they reached him, he let out a wail that shook the burning tent.

“MY GUIDANCE HAS ENDED!” he screamed, as they took him.

Read Be Good to find out if the various religions ever reconciled after this tragedy!

Holy Order 1 – Prion Lorral


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Spread the Word of Priarch to Every Nation

Prion Lorral sat in his dimly lit cell, contemplating the future.

In a few hours, he would be executed.

Perhaps this too, Prophet Imran had foreseen.

And if he had, then the old man surely had the most wicked sense of humour.

Ten years ago, he had become the first Prion in existence. He had been the first to read Prophet Imran’s Holy Order, one year after the man had departed the world to be with Priarch. He had been personally taught by Prophet Imran, and had received the most direct instruction of all the Pre-Prions.

And yet, after following Prophet Imran’s words to the letter, he now found himself on the verge of meeting Priarch.

Where, exactly, had things gone wrong?

He had left Origin full of hope and eager energy. He had preached the word of Priarch to every man, woman and child who would listen. He had traveled the length and breadth of Vuria, and then, he had reached the border. Crossing into Dogain, he had been welcomed as a brother and friend.

For several years, he had preached to the locals, as they showed him the hundred and one festivals of Dogain. He had even met with the Kais, the Dogain equivalent to Vuria’s King, and personally taught him about the wonders of Priarch.

Although they had made no firm commitments to take on the worship of Priarch, they had allowed him to build a shrine in Firenz, the capital.

When at last he had felt the tug of destiny on his robes, he had left the nation with a grand procession which had lasted for weeks. After stopping in Origin to report his success and teach a few classes for the new Pre-Prions, he had headed Dawnward, towards the mysterious nation of Bartha.

Upon arrival, he had been searched, stripped of his possessions and made to swear that he meant no harm to the Eternal Emperor. After doing so, he had been left in the street, possessing only the robe on his back.

However, despite the difference in welcome, he had not given up and returned home. Starting in the outlying villages, he had preached the word of Priarch. Many laughed, and many more jeered, but a few… a precious few, listened.

One by one, his followers had grown from a small rabble to a mighty crowd. No longer did they jeer when he rode into the towns and villages. Now, they cheered.

He had believed, at the time, that he was doing Imran’s will. He would personally convert an entire country to the Church of the Priarch, and by doing so, save their souls from an eternity in the Void.

However, everything had fallen apart after that. Men and women, tired of the Eternal Emperor’s cruelty and high taxes, had ingrained themselves amongst his faithful and had used his followers to commit atrocities. Overnight, his peaceful group became murderous rebels, intent on tearing the Eternal Emperor from his silver throne. They didn’t care about Priarch or the Parabils… All they cared about was that by claiming his name they could transform their petty rebellion into a holy crusade.

How many had died in the ensuing battles? How many had fallen, screaming for Priarch to come down and save them? How many had cursed his name for bringing the Eternal Flame to their nation?

Too many.


And now he sat in a cell, waiting to die.

In the end, his followers had been too undisciplined, divisive and unruly to properly carry out a rebellion. They had lost battle after battle against the Eternal Emperor’s well trained soldiers. Finally, they had been cornered and, with the sole exception of their leader, they had been massacred.

Why had they not killed him? Simple, they needed to send a message.

A moment later, a group of guards appeared. The looks on their faces did not convey even a hint of mercy. In their hands they held tongs, pliers and knives. It was clear what their purpose was.

They took him to a room far below the surface, where his screams would not reach the outside world. They tortured him, in every vile manner they knew of, until his body gave out.


When he regained consciousness, he was kneeling before the Eternal Emperor himself. Whenever his followers had spoken of him, they had mentioned his wisdom, his tactical genius and his merciless nature.

But they had never mentioned his age.

Staring at the man before him, he could see why.

The Eternal Emperor, the Scourge of the Flamelands and the Mournstar, sat before him.

He could not have been older than ten.

So it was true then, the rumours he had heard. The Eternal Emperor was not one man, but a title passed down through the ages. Whenever one died, he was immediately replaced by a younger man who had been raised to believe that he was the continuation of the dead man, instead of a separate entity.

“My soldiers have informed me of your actions, rebel,” the boy snarled.

Prion Lorral said nothing. He was barely conscious, and had enough energy for only a few words before he died.

And he knew exactly what they would be.

“Your followers are scattered, your attempt to kill me has failed, and you yourself will soon be dead!” the boy screamed, yet Prion Lorral did not recoil.

“Say something, you fool!”

Silence followed.

“Very well! Let us see if the flames will loosen his tongue!”

They picked him up and carried him over to a mound of broken planks. Throwing him down, he felt hundreds of wooden shards pierce his back.

And yet he did not cry out.

If this was truly Prophet Imran’s plan, then he would see it through until the end.

He had played his part. He had spread the word of Priarch to the world. Whether the people listened, however, was beyond his control. Perhaps he had struggled for naught, as the Eternal Emperor claimed… but as he lay there, moments from death, he thought back to all those he had helped.

He had no regrets.

“Light the fire, and send this man to his imaginary god!” the boy called.

A moment later, the fire was lit, and Prion Lorral felt the flames begin to lap at his skin.

He expected pain, and yet it did not come.

Perhaps he could no longer feel agony, or… perhaps Priarch was with him, even now.

Turning his head to the Eternal Emperor, he looked at him with pity. For he would never know Priarch’s light.

“I am destined for the light,” he said, voice cracking, “but you, I am afraid, are destined for the Void… May Priarch have mercy on your soul, and all those who follow you…”

At that moment, a great wind blew through the throne room, causing the soldiers and the Eternal Emperor to shriek and panic. The wind infused the fire with strength and it grew in size until it towered over them. It hurled itself against them, claiming dozens of men with tongues of flame. From within the inferno, clear as day and devoid of pain, the survivors heard a voice.

“My guidance has ended.”

And then, all was silent…

Holidays and Healing


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Hey guys, girls and everyone else, I just want to give a quick update on what I’ve been up to these past few weeks.

So from the beginning of July until the 16th I was on holiday in the UK which was a truly amazing experience. I was fortunate enough to have breakfast in the Elephant House, the cafe where JK Rowling wrote parts of Harry Potter! It was quite the inspiring moment, sitting in the same place where a bestselling novel was written. Who knows, perhaps one day people will say the same thing about one of my local eateries?

After returning to South Africa I spent a bit of time readjusting (it’s winter this side, although we had 29°C the other day so I suppose it doesn’t count) and recovering.

Unfortunately, just as I was about to get back into writing, I was struck down by the flu. So at the moment I’m lying in bed next to a pile of medicine.

However, make no mistake, as soon as I am well I will get back to writing The Beggar Knight, Son of Man and The Godhand, so look forward to them!

P.S Don’t forget that there will be a Holy Order released every month on the 10th. Next time we will learn more about Prion Almeran Lorral and his tragic end!

Holy Order 0 – Prophet Imran


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Build the Church of the Priarch

Rion Imran, third son of Marra and Saed, was in trouble.

He hadn’t caught a single fish in three days.

He had spent the past few days fishing in the Southward section of Lake Elcaro. Normally, the lake would be teeming with Whitefins and Dusty Rakes; however, he had seen not a single fish since the start of his search.

At this rate, he would be forced to beg his neighbours for enough food to feed his family.

It was not a thought he wanted to entertain.

Aside from begging or hoping for a sudden influx of fish, there was one other option.

The Northward side of the Lake.

He had grown up hearing about how dangerous the Northward side was. The narrowing of the canyon and the turbulent waters beyond often produced flash floods which could occur without warning.

Many a fisherman, hoping to make their fortune, had lost their lives to the sudden wave of water which they could not hope to avoid.

But Rion was hungry, and his parents were counting on him.

Bringing in his nets, he picked up his paddle and started to row.


It took him three hours to row to the Northward side, but it was worth it.

As soon as he had cast his net into the water, he had felt that familiar tug. Reeling it in, he had found two Whitefins and a Dusty Rake. Perhaps the fish on this side of the lake, having never known the danger of fishermen, had abandoned all sense of caution.

So he threw his net again.

And again.

And each time, it came back full.

However, at the same time, he noticed a cloud gathering above the canyon. When he had arrived, it had been white and airy.

Now it looked like a storm contained.

But he still had space in his boat. One more haul, and then he would go home a hero. His family would not know the pangs of hunger for a very long time.

Just one more…

He took hold of the net, keeping an eye on the heavens above. The storm rumbled, letting him know of its presence. This would not take long.

He threw the netting as far as his arms would allow. A heartbeat later, the braided rope sunk beneath the surface.

Lightning suddenly lit the sky, illuminating the canyon outlet. Was the water level rising?

No. He still had time.

He counted to twenty, and then he started to pull in his haul. From the weight of it, it would be the largest one yet. Once he returned to the village, he would be a legend amongst fishermen.

Only a few more seconds, and he would return with a month’s worth of fish.

And then… everything fell apart.

He pulled, but the line did not respond. It had gotten stuck.

“No!” he cried, but only the storm heard his words.

And then, it replied.

A lance of lightning struck the water before him, blinding him. When his eyes finally blinked away the darkness, he saw that the lighting had only been the storm’s introduction.

But now, it roared.

It had sent forth a great torrent of water which came rushing into the lake faster than he could believe. There was no time to panic. There was no time to pray… not that there were any gods worth praying to around here.

The water rose into a wave which towered over him, and in that moment, he knew that his greed had been his undoing. He would die beneath the waves, and his body would never be found.

A moment later, the wave hit, and he disappeared from the world…


Rion floated in the void. Before him, and around him, was infinite darkness.

So this was death? It was bleaker than he had imagined.

Nothing to do but float around in the void for the rest of eternity?

Surely there must be more to this?

And then the words came.

“Come forward, my child,” said a voice that belonged to no man.

There, in the distance, was something other than darkness.

A point of light. A tiny, flickering flame. It did not illuminate the darkness. Instead, it accentuated it, giving it contrast and definition.

Rion came forward. Anything was better than an infinity of being bored and alone.

“What are you?” he asked, as he reached the tiny flame. It hung in the void, unsupported and unattached.

“I am the Eternal Flame,” It said, in a voice that flickered and changed with every word, “I am the Rising and the Setting. I am the Beginning and the End. I am what I am… and I am what you will make me. I am a spark of truth. A shard of faith. A cornerstone of belief. I am… Priarch. And I am your God.”

“Fishermen have no need of Gods,” he replied, eventually, feeling foolish, “All we want is fish, and all we need is fish. Where does religion come in?”

The voice from the fire said nothing.

Instead, it chuckled.

“To the fish below, you are a God, no? You appear without warning, take without explanation and kill without remorse. Such are the qualities of the greatest Gods. But I do not wish for you to be a God. I want you to be something…more…”

“What’s more than a God?”

“A Prophet.”

“I thought that Prophets served the Gods?”

Again, silence was his reply. Eventually, however, the fire flickered and said, “I do not ask your subservience. I ask only of your cooperation. I will give you power, and you will tell mankind of my name. In this, we shall both fulfil our purpose.”

Rion thought about this for a while. If he refused, and if he could somehow escape the void, he would be returning to a life of hardship and hard work. Compared to that… being a Prophet didn’t sound so bad…

“No one will listen to a fisherman,” he said, after a time.

“They will listen,” replied Priarch, “For the gift I will give you is one of foresight. Everything that can be, and that will be, will be revealed to you. Use the future to better the present. Spread the flame of faith, and you will see the faithful grow in turn.”

“And if I don’t like what the future holds? Will this power allow me to change it?”

Priarch said nothing. Instead, the flame pulsed and changed. As it did so, Rion felt something within him change. A spark, a light, which had not been there before.

“I will not tell you what is right and what is wrong. I will not force you to obey the threads of destiny. All I will say is that sometimes, the things that you create can turn against you.”

“You speak from experience?” Rion asked.

In response, Priarch grew larger, until he was a massive sphere of flame which stretched out into every direction.

“I once sought to create something from nothing. I poured the entirety of my being into it, and it came alive. While I rested from my great expense, I entrusted my children with its care. However, when I returned from my slumber, I found that they had stolen it from me.”

“So what did you do?”

“In my anger, I struck out at them. But they were prepared, and they overwhelmed me. All that you see before you is all that remains of my flame. But I do not hate them. All shall be mended in the future, once I have regained my strength. But that day shall not arrive for a very long time. We must instead focus on the present.”

Rion nodded. What else could he do?

“What would you have me do?” he said, after a time.

“Talk to those around you, for a start. Your parents, your brothers, your neighbours. Tell them of me, of my light, of my truth. Make them believe.”

“And if they don’t?”

“Then use the power that I have given you. Show them where the rain will fall. Show them where the fish will spawn. Show them where the bandits will strike. Once you have their trust, their hearts will not be far behind.”

“As you wish, Priarch,” Rion said. Something inside him had changed, and it wasn’t just the light. It was a sense of purpose… a sense of destiny. He would go forth, and spread the word of Priarch.

“Good. Now, leave this place of darkness and death! Go forth, and build a Church which will endure for all time!” Priarch said, sending forth a wave of energy which struck him in the chest. As it hit him, he did something which he had not done since entering the Void.

He took a breath.

And then he took another.

Slowly, with one breath at a time, he returned to the land of the living.

A moment later, another wave him, and he disappeared from the Void.


He woke up on a bank that he had never seen before. Nearby, looking as if it had never even heard of a storm, was his boat. Inside, to his delight, was his catch.

But that was a small delight. For the man who had weathered the storm was not the man who now stood beside the water. That other man would have been overjoyed to see both his vessel and his fish untouched.

But that other man had been a simple fisherman.

The man who, even now, could feel Priarch’s warmth, was a Prophet.

Closing his eyes, he thought back, to his childhood.

And then, he thought forward, to the future.

Both images had the same clarity.

The time he had decided to row out onto the lake in order to prove his worth, compared to the time he had returned to his village with a boat filled with fish and a heart filled with flames.

He saw his parent’s scepticism. But eventually they would believe.

He also saw the rock, thrown by the village drunkard, which would leave a scar upon his face.

No. He would not allow that future to come to pass.

He would make a new one, one that suited him better.

And so it was, that Rion the fisherman entered the storm, and Prophet Imran emerged from it.

The world would never be the same again…

Read Be Good to find out these events changed the world a thousand years later…

Be Good Post-Release Content


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What, you’ve finished reading Be Good already? And you loved it?

And you say that you want more?!?

Worry not, my friends, for I shall provide!

Starting on the 10th of July, I will be posting monthly Holy Orders for the next ten months. These will further elaborate on events that were briefly touched on during Be Good, allowing you to gain greater understanding and appreciation for Prophet Imran’s 1000 year plan.

Click here for the Holy Orders page!

Furthermore, do you want to be able to tell your Prions from your Pyres? Want to discover a bunch of additional information? Or are you just really bored?

Then why not check out the Be Good Book Terms?

Hopefully that should keep you occupied until the 10th, just remember to check back here for the first Holy Order!

Be Good has been published!


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After many months of hard work, Be Good, my first standalone novel, has finally been released!

The book is available via Amazon and Smashwords (and all of its affiliated distributors, including Apple and Kobo)!

[If you don’t find it on the Smashwords affiliates, check back in a day or two. Sometimes there is a delay with the publishing/distribution]

The book tells the story of Attacus Lore, a Prion of the Church of the Priarch who is told to Kill the King, who unfortunately turns out to be his brother! Will he succeed, or will he defy a thousand years of religious teachings? Read Be Good to find out!

The book will be available for FREE on Smashwords and it’s affiliates, but will cost $0.99 on Amazon. This is due to Amazon having a minimum cost setting. Therefore, if you just want to read the story, go to Smashwords. If instead you wish to support me as an author, head over to Amazon.

If you enjoy the book, please leave me a favorable review at your online retailer of choice. Every star counts, and I’ll really appreciate any positive feedback!

If you didn’t enjoy the book, please email me at newedenchronicles@yahoo.com with any feedback or advice on how I can improve and deliver greater content to you in the future.

Thank you for all of your support so far, and I can’t wait to share my next work with you!

And remember, you must Kill the King!