Thirty Years War Book Novels & Stories

“Ariadne.” Even the books here were ones I’d already read repeatedly. There were only so many times I could read about the '100 Greatest Battles of Wolf Kind' or 'The Twenty Steps of a Successful Luna' before beginning to hate even the thought of picking a book up. But even if I asked someone to go to the library for me, it was unlikely there would be many books in there that I hadn’t already read at least once. 'Three hundred and eighty-four… three hundred and eighty-five… three hundred and eighty-six….'

Sitting around Bryden's desk, my mom began the story of the Prophecy. “Over five hundred years ago there was a great prophet known to all three worlds. One night as he slept he had a strong vision of a war between the worlds. The cause of the war started by the greed of an evil dark king, the prophet saw darkness grow inside this king, and the darkness began poisoning the world he ruled. It began to grow dark with evil and poison across the world.

But on the lower shelf, pushed toward the back like something filed away rather than stored, I found it. No title on the spine. I pulled it free and opened the cover. “ A Complete Record of the Human Management System as Established by the Wolf Council in the Third Year Following the Great War’s Cessation,” I read out loud to myself. Great War. The same war, Mye had mentioned. I carried the book to the chair by the dead fireplace and sat down. The first section was bureaucratic—council minutes, resource allocations, the dry language of people building something terrible and calling it policy. I moved through it quickly, scanning for substance.

William Shakespeare The Merchant of Venice, Act 4, Scene 1 PROLOGUE I open my eyes and am immediately assaulted by a rogue swarm of butterflies in my stomach. A lazy grin stretches across my face and I can’t help but let out a sigh of contentment. Despite the crazy circus in my belly, I have never been happier. The day I have been working towards all month has finally arrived; my wedding day.

"Exactly" "That's messed up" "Mother didn't think so, well since nobody wanted her or obeyed her rule she decided to build her own army" "But an army made by demons who aren't to be fully trusted" "That is a question you need to ask mother though I don't think she will tell you" "What happened three thousand years ago, what caused this war?" The food was already long forgotten at this point at the mention of story telling which Devaro was more than eager to tell.

TIFE OKUWOBI. ONE THOUSAND YEARS ONE THOUSAND YEARS. Copyright©2020 by Tife Okuwobi. All rights reserved. No part of this book maybe used or reproduced in any manner whatsoever without written permission. Address at ayooluwapelumiolorunlolope@g***l.com. TIFE OKUWOBI. ONE THOUSAND YEARS ONE THOUSAND YEARS. Copyright©2020 by Tife Okuwobi. All rights reserved. No part of this book maybe used or reproduced in any manner whatsoever without written permission. Address at ayooluwapelumiolorunlolope@g***l.com.

FWEEEET! HOWWWLLLL!! Dominic stood right with me, howling for his pack to come to him. How our groups were fighting, there was no telling how many of our members were left. “Hopefully, they act together.” Dante said as he came over to us. “They will.” I told them. “They probably destroyed themselves from this bullshit ass war you caused, Eric.” Callighan chuckled. “You might as well suck it up and take this ass whooping.”

***the previous chapter is the last chapter in which Amory’s POV will appear. We have now arrived at the point of the original book ‘Damaged’ on the chapter titled ‘Three Years Later’ if you wish to read both books as they occur in-sync with each other*** Amory is behind the bar dressed in a black halter top with black booty shorts and silver stilettos, which is typical for her, and I see her kick into high gear when Sy starts waving to get someone’s attention. We all know that this is do-or-die time! But a couple of drunk dumb fucks smashed to the ground behind me, breaking glasses and spilling liquor everywhere.

For thirty years, she had always been like this with me. No one around us would ever say Claire didn't love me. Everyone said she loved me more than she loved her own life. Even during the car accident, her first instinct had been to shield me. She hadn't cared that she'd ended up with three broken ribs. And yet this woman who loved me so desperately had deceived me for thirty years. I closed my eyes and forced down the suffocating emotions surging through my chest. Then, beneath her worried gaze, I pulled my hand from hers expressionlessly. "We're done."

And then she wrote about the thirty years. The village with the narrow road and the house that had become full of books because books were the company available without risk. The photograph in the wooden box. The annual calculation about whether this was the year to come back, and the answer always arriving as not yet, and the way not yet accumulated into a decade and then two decades and then three. The specific quality of a life lived in the anteroom of a decision that kept refusing to be made, and what that did to a person across thirty years.