Kirjahaku

I have tapped into the spirit of my age, redefining my voice to meet its needs. It is a moment now captured, as a wound scarred over, words flowing as healing life-blood through my mind to this page. This is not what was, probably not what will be, but remains as it is, a foundation of ever-burning fire. These words are an answer to the marching orders I received, and I confirm my resolution to now serve. (This Season can also be found in Collection 2: Rags of Gallery)

Here are a few echoes from the Shiver, with also a few orders left to complete. There are also a few ornaments now assembled, to round out this imaginative feat. This next collection comes after and during a time of life set to pass. This comes before the next step, which may require a new army to mass. I'll leave you, humble reader, to judge it, for I've no battle to fight, though I'd war. I may often seem as a preacher, but only since my wounds are still sore. I don't have the energy to battle, so I'll settle for a few simple lies. Illusions they may be, delusions of grace, but only in response to Dragon's cries. Review with me a few tidbits, some tasty conclusions of zeal. My convictions are tightening over my heart, and with gracious skin, I now feel. (This Season can also be found in "Collection 2: Rags of Gallery")

I didn't really see this volume coming. I thought much of the work already done. The ornaments I've assembled have been collected, the orders which sent me marching already sung. It may have been at some point while preaching, while the warrior inside me learned to laugh, that I started to see hints of coming conflicts, Raiders lingering to test my craft. I've noticed now the need to engage ritual, as I cannot any longer avoid what's lacked. This rite of passage I must now endure, shall leave me vulnerable yet eager to be attacked. I am no cocky fool to blindly follow, nor am I a simple sapling bent by wind. My strength is in remaining steadfast and consistent, allowing the next unknown phase to begin. (This Season is also available in "Collection 2: Rags of Gallery")

What began as an allegory, a simple insight, has grown into a complete cycle of personal myth, fueled by the need for self-examination ...and the reasoning for leaving certain aspects unexamined. Here is the challenge of the Dragon, as it turns its attention on the Dark Warrior, which was almost its easy prey. Here is the deconstruction, degrading, and development of the Craftsman, when Doubt surfaces in opposition to his essential works. Here is the product of legends imbibed, as they resonate with flesh, bones, and brain, to exhume the ravaged confidence of an identity thought dead, only to find it living, pulsating, breathing words from the mists deep within.

The shadows were never meant to be noticed. Predators upon the human psyche, waves of a primordial Tide, they've lingered obscure beyond the opaque curtain of perception, specters with unknowable purpose, presences terrible to experience, yet easily dismissible in the light of day.In the town of Timberdam, the curtain is beginning to tear. For Cain Greyon, it tore long ago. His nightmares were once perceived as sleep paralysis. He knew they heralded something more to come, something born through him rather than from him, which he came to call the Walker-Dark. Now, from the mist wanders Roam, the Wanderer, an ancient shadow given human form by means even he does not understand. His instincts and impulses feel new, yet borrowed, and he is driven to explore them amid Timberdam's citizens as Elliot Fog. In those he meets, he finds some whom he might find easy prey, while in others, reason to worry. And in one, his ultimate reason for being ... a love which could be easily dismissed, yet terrible to experience.