Tag Archives: Legends of Elessia

A Silvery Moon 

A short notice, today: my first novel in English is finally available on Amazon. 

It’s called “A Silvery Moon”, and I would be grateful if you follow the link to learn more about it.

Should you do me the honor of buying it, I would appreciate an Amazon review – that helps more than anything else. Of course, sharing the linked page and talking about the book on social media is good, too.

Thank you,

P.S: I originally only planned to launch it as an e-book, but as luck would have it, it’s eligible for print-on-demand. That version should be available starting next week.

Mask of the Eternal Moon – 1 – The Lady and the Mercenary

Sahal placed the yellowed quill in the inkwell in front of him, and lifted his gaze from the contract he had been reviewing. His jet-black eyes went to the source of the noise that had caught his attention, the opening of the wooden doors leading to his quarters.

The woman had white skin, pale as the moon, and her night-black dress flowed to the ground in a cascade of fabric. At the center of this contrast, a bright red scarf wrapped around her neck gleamed like the largest lighthouse in the largest port of Elessia.

The guards were dead, of course, thought the commander of the largest mercenary army east of the Holy Kingdom. No one would ever have come to him without being announced, were that not the case.

Without saying a word, the woman stepped forward, flanked by shelving where trophies and spoils of dozens of campaigns were deposited – weapons of princes and kings, works of art from the most beautiful palaces, rare books from the richest royal libraries. The corridor leading to Sahal was long, but she did not seem to be in a hurry.

Sahal sat back, leaning against the back of his armchair. Most men would have begun to tremble when they saw that, whenever the woman’s slow pace led her past one of the candlesticks attached to the shelves, the candles would go out. The closer she got, the darker the room became. But Sahal was not like most men, and instead of fear, a white smile blossomed on his face, a face tanned by the light of dozens of suns. He knew who he was dealing with.

Memphalarissala. A creature of legend, perhaps the last higher vampire in Elessia. Vampires were mythological beasts, of course, almost forgotten in the Elessian folklore. All had been exterminated or forever sealed, many generations in the past. But when the armies of the Daughter of Ice emerged from the icy plains to conquer the northern city-states, some unsuspecting soul had broken the seal that imprisoned Memphala in her eternal slumber. And now, perhaps for the first time in millennia, a higher vampire walked among mortals.

Almost nobody in the world knew about it, of course. For the common mortal, the supernatural existed only in story. But for Sahal, knowing what no one else knew was a key element for survival. And so he smiled as the legend advanced, but his right hand rested on the pommel of a silver dagger.

The vampiress halted in front of the desk where the commander of the Ravens of the Sands sat. The flame of the candle resting on it trembled, threatened to go out, but was not quenched. It was now the only light in the room, and it illuminated the irresistible silhouette of the woman in black.

Without a word, moving her arm as swiftly as a viper strikes, Memphala threw a cloth sack on top of the papers resting in front of Sahal. As it landed on his desk, the sack opened, and from it exploded a tide of golden doubloons, which flowed into Sahal’s lap and onto the floor.

Sahal looked at the vampire, raising an eyebrow. And his smile doubled in size.

The Arrival

Aurora spread her arms over her head and stretched, savoring the shadow cast by the stone archway. The construction stretched across the skies above and blocked the intense sun of the arid plains of Jahaara. The priestess undid the gray turban that covered her head and face, and shook the sweat of her curly brown hair. I must look just like my partner when he shakes after coming out of the water. She thought.

Aurora had never seen the tiger-man behave as he did now. Standing in front of the gate of his homeland, Jamaal was a different, more upright, more powerful creature – and she had never imagined a situation were 200 pounds of tiger might seem more powerful than usual.

The feline stood with his back straight, his black-and-orange striped arms crossed over the chest that bore the same pattern. He usually walked with a slight crook, at times even on all fours, and his face rarely showed any emotion as perceivable by any human being. Here and now, he smiled a smile of a thousand sharp fangs, his whiskers taunt.

The priestess was about to ask him if anyone was going to open the door for them – if anyone would even come out and ask them who they were – when she heard the stone roar. Slowly, the colossal stone gate began to open.

On the other side waited three tiger-men, also with their arms folded. They wore nothing but gray thongs, and belts where they had sheathed the characteristic curved swords of Sala’hadan. It was not the first time that Aurora noticed the influence of the desert people in feline culture.

The guards remained immobile, mimicking Jamaal’s position. Aurora smiled and waved.

From behind them came a middle-aged man, rotund as a particularly cherubic baby. Of course, almost all human males looked short when next to the tiger-men, but the top of this one’s head, even accounting for the green turban, barely reached the height of Aurora’s chin.

The man half walked, half rolled in her direction. He stepped up to her, stopped, and pulled a dirty monocle from a pouch of his earth-green tunic, which he promptly wiped on a sleeve, before thrusting it between his eye and the priestess’s smile.

“I was not expecting to see a man from Garm here. You’re far from home, my friend!” Said Aurora.

The man almost fell back, and the only thing that prevented the monocle from shattering on the floor was the silver chain that found it to the pocket.

“A thousand pardons, my lady.” Said the man from Garm. “I’ve been here for many years, and as I lose the habit of speaking our language, I find my manners dwindling.”

He offered his hand to Aurora. “Oskar Hoffritz, at your service, my lady. Manufacturer of hourglasses. “

The priestess offered her hand back. “Aurora. Enchanted. “

With the air of one who remembered something important, the little man straightened, and resumed his inspection, monocle in hand.


“Can I help you, good man?”

“I beg your pardon, Miss Aurora. It’s mere protocol. “And with that, the man turned to the three guards and made a noise that, to Aurora, sounded like the sound of a person with shallow breath trying to snuff our a huge birthday cake’s candles; a series of short, breathless puffs: “Fufufu, fufufu.”

“What is he saying, Jamaal?” Her companion wiggled his whiskers slightly, and nothing more.

The guards moved sideways, visibly more relaxed. Jamaal spoke for the first time since they had arrived at the gate.

“Aurora-gh’tar, we were talking. Winning entry. “

“Oh? I did not hear much. “

“Smell, small movements, occasional noises,” Oskar replied. “I studied the vocal part, and that alone makes me sort of an ambassador.”

The priestess laughed. “So all these years, that smell… Were you trying to communicate, Jamaal?”

The tiger man rolled his eyes, and advanced to cross the gate.

“Gh’tar, if you could smell yourself the way I do, you’d spend every day scrubbing.”

Aurora followed behind him, her mischievous smile beaming.  Oskar trailed close behind. 

Finally, she was going to witness the city hidden behind the thousand-year-old wall of the cat people.