Fantasy Of Grimgar And Ash Novels & Stories

POV: Ash Ryder "Get out of my way, you mindless filth, or I’ll paint this ice with whatever rot you have for blood!" Ash’s voice was no longer the steady, commanding baritone of the Silverfang Alpha. It was a jagged, raw snarl that vibrated with a terrifying lack of restraint. He lunged forward, his silver dagger flashing in a lethal arc as it sank into the neck of a Shadow-beast. The creature, a twisted mass of smoke and elongated bone, didn't even have time to hiss before Ash ripped the blade sideways, decapitating it with a spray of violet ichor that sizzled against the frozen ground.

“Magister, why do we let garbage through the gates? Let me throw her to the stone giant and save us the paperwork.” I ignored him, but my left hand squeezed into a tight fist. My nails pressed hard into an old, ugly scar that hid my forbidden blood seal. It kept my real, dangerous ash-magic buried deep inside me. In this empire, that kind of magic meant death. It was the same power the lost Ash King used when he nearly burned the whole world a hundred years ago. “Put your hand on the stone,” Vane ordered. I stepped forward. My boots hit the hard ground, and I felt cold eyes burning into the back of my neck.

“A whole pack is being mind held by dead sorcerers. I've been able to release some of them but the sexual bounds are proving to be a challenge.” Ash was frowning hard when I finished. “I will help you.” “Thank you,” I offered my hands to him. “Close your eyes.” Immediately, I saw him in my head space. We stood facing the shield that was transparent in some areas, showing that some had been released, but black in most part. Seems like those sorcerers went around sleeping with anyone remotely interested. “I've never seen anyone this huge before,” Ash noted. “Thank the goddess for that.”

"If he falls sick again, he might not be able to leave anymore. I coldly placed a plate of food in front of him, and he looked up at me in joy. "Are you finally forgiving me, Felicity?" I met his eyes with a cold gaze and said, "Get better soon so that you can leave this place." The light in his eyes faded away slowly when he heard that. Then, he really left the mountains the next morning. I thought he finally couldn't keep up the act anymore. However, he returned again the next day with a huge sack on a bison.

***Darkfire. The next morning, Asher was still asleep and he was immersed in a dream so beautiful that he had done very few like it in his whole life. He and Skylar were having fun running around laughing in a garden covered with fragrant flowers as far as the eye could see. Then they fell and began to kiss and declare their love to each other endlessly, promising each other never again separate. But Ginger had gone to Asher's chambers early, again hoping to catch him coming back. Room after room, she searched carefully, but silently so as not to be caught by a servant. Finally, she found him asleep in his room. But the creak the door made as it closed woke Asher up and disrupted this deligh

Magic that carries names older than language. She walks into the courtyard of Emberhold. And as she passes, the ash lifts in spirals. It does not settle. It curls. And across the stone, in lines of scorched sigil, a word appears. Not spoken. Formed. One word. Ashwake.

“They know. Even if you won’t admit it.” The gate shuddered again. A second crack split through it, running from top to bottom like a lightning bolt. Light poured through the gap—not sunlight, but a sickly, grey light that made the shadows crawl. From beyond, something moved. A shape. Tall. Human, but wrong. Its skin looked like it was made of ash and stone, shifting with every step. No eyes. Just two hollows where eyes should be. “The Ash Man,” Malric whispered. His voice was almost reverent.

Pack’s pack, Tess—strike, guard! The hum of magic intensified, the violet runes flaring, the ground within the ravine trembling, Veilborn wraiths rising from the ash and bone shards, their forms coalescing into shadowy, clawed figures, their eyes glowing violet, their snarls a guttural echo, the air crackling with dark magic, the Veil’s wind howling louder, the bone shards glowing brighter, the ravine’s walls pulsing faster, the Veilborn’s whispers a deafening roar, the ancient power stirring, the Ashen Veil a crucible for the pack’s fire, the battle for their legacy reaching a new chapter, the muted light dimming, the ash thickening, the scent of decay a chilling promise, the pack’s fire a

Her breasts were mountains, her hips like a jumping buck, her white wolf fur and gray bear skins over leather armaments rustling like a warning sign. She lowered her hunting horn and smiled at me, rather sternly. "I have taught you much of Magick, have I not, little one?" she said, her damp wood colored hair and birch white skin shining under the midnight sun. "Jarngrimr of the Sorrows draws close. Right now, she is flying aback her father Wotan's gallows to the Northern Holds in Utgardr with her huldre court. She intends you to be her bride, as your mother once promised long ago in exchange for the Magick to summon the Stronghold that makes Arcadia impenetrable. You and Rosy and Yuri are be

My ribs shriek in protest. I drive my shard up mindlessly into its gut—once, twice, three times. Hot black blood spills over my hand, burning where it touches. The smell is wrong—sweet and chemical, like meat left to rot in sorcery. Not wolf. Not man. Something made to unmake. The creature gurgles. But doesn’t fall. It’s not built to fall. It’s built to drag me down. I snarl, wrench the shard free, and jam it sideways into its gaping maw.