“The Realm of Feyron has always been. It is the origin of all things magical, the axis point where all the worlds meet…”
The idea for Feyron started with a map, a place for her daughter to tell stories and live out storytelling role-playing adventures with her friends. The lore grew around the map, for every world needs lore if you are going to “live” there. The idea for a series, Tales of Feyron, grew out of the lore, for if you’re going to invent a world, you may as well play there too. The stories are continuing to grow through the various historical ages of Feyron and have just started to ripple outwards to the Worlds Beyond touched by magic. Legacy of Mist and Shadow is the first tale to venture to one of those worlds.
The series, Tales from Feyron, is narrated by a Storyteller who begins her tales in the middle of things, so to speak, with the historical period known as The Age of Awakenings. The first book, The Dreamweaver’s Journey, follows the first Dreamweaver to come of age in over three hundred years on a quest across the four Realms of Light within Feyron. The second book, The Guardian Child’s Return, follows a group of young adventurers beyond the Realms of Light to a place that few knew could even be reached. The newest tale, Legacy of Mist and Shadow, begins to hint at the past during the Age of Fading and explore the Worlds Beyond that are connected to Feyron.
Legacy of Mist and Shadow
Pre-order available October 1, 2014
Live for purchase and shipment December 20, 2014
The Box of Melodies was left with Clan Caris by Lady Oyisha, daughter of the mists, for care and keeping. A series of visions revealing the last desperate moments of a forgotten clan – the loss of their gateway to Feyron and the escape of a lone traveler holding the box – spurs a handful of adventuresome youth on a trek through the Lesser Forest where they inadvertently cause a ripple through the mists with unintended consequences.
A few of the youth find themselves on an unexpected journey to a World Beyond, lost in mist and shadow, where misunderstanding and suspicion lead to danger and darkness. Forgotten histories are discovered, clan secrets are revealed, and old alliances are remembered as the families of the lost seek to discover where the youth have been drawn by memories within the Mists of Time.
Through blurred vision, the exhausted girl could just make out the soft glow of the white marble within the jewel-toned alcove. She crawled across the forest floor, every breath a searing pain as she forced herself to move when all she wanted was to drift away, to forget the horror of this day, and rest. She pulled herself up the cold stone, hardly even able to balance on her knees, until she could just reach across the flat top. Slowly she pulled the cloth bound around her chest and pushed a parcel onto the pedestal, the twisted cloth falling away to reveal a pale, wooden box.
Orabelle sat in the growing pool, the water spreading even farther from the once forgotten spring. Her eyes were misty white and the blue of her water magic nearly reached her elbows as she continued to call the water forth as though she were the little naiad in the vision Neria had called before. Shyamal and Arwyn sat, arms still linked, nearly engulfed by the mists. Neither of them noticed the water beneath the mists creeping towards the alcove, the pool slowly covering Zilya’s feet as she stood in the exact spot where the girl in the projected vision clung to the marble gifting shrine.
Elwynne had been slowly edging forward until he was well past Shyamal and Arwyn. Enthralled by the projecting vision, he felt like he could almost touch the girl. She looked so familiar, like he knew her, but between being all wet and deathly pale from nearly drowning and the odd, shadowy nature of the vision, it was hard for him to make out who she looked like. If she would just crawl away from the shadows, then he could see her better without disturbing Zilya as she shared her magics with Neria.
Oisin stood with his back pressed to the great oak. Something about the solidness of the oak brought him comfort. It was real, and present, and not part of the mists. If he had stopped to think on it, he may have wondered if the oak had witnessed these events when they occurred before, but he had little training in the magics beyond those of clan Caris, having only attended summer academy for the first time last season, and the littlest sparks that make up all of nature were not yet known to him. Something in the back of his mind kept poking him until he was covered in goosebumps and shivering. There was something wrong with these mists. They seemed to flow in from everywhere, but there was nothing to generate them.
‘The mist, it shouldn’t be here at all,’ he thought.
Diana L. Wicker’s Author Bio
Diana is an indie author living in the balmy climate of the US south with family, two dogs, two cats, and a cantakerous rabbit. She enjoys reading, sewing (clothing, costuming, and experimental toy-making), and RPG games. (She grew up with the old school paper/pencil style of gaming, but has transitioned happily to the highly interactive world of video games.) And, as if she had more time to spare, she has recently invested in her first Asian ball jointed doll.
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