The Story Behind the Story with returning author S. C. Eston of Fredericton, NB, Canada.

 

Great News! Steve has a new book out and he’s here to tell us about it.

 

Surrender has been long anticipated by fantasy lovers and Mr. Eston’s many fans.

He’s no stranger to the Scribbler and please follow the link if you missed his previous visit.

Go HERE.

Read on my friends.

 

 

STEVE C. ESTON has been a lover of the fantastical and the scientific since he was a young boy. He wrote his first story by hand while still in elementary school—a five-page story about a tiger-masked ninja fighting mythical monsters that included his own illustrations.

Steve has published four books: The Burden of the Protector, The Conclave, Deficiency, and The Stranger of Ul Darak (First book of the Lost Tyronian Archives).

When not spending time with his family, Steve makes time for his numerous hobbies, which include reading books, listening to music, playing video games, watching movies, making puzzles, and playing hockey and tennis. He also loves to travel.

For information on current writing projects and for free short stories, head on over to:

www.SCEston.com

 

Title: Surrender, Book 1 of the Baneseeker Chronicles

Synopsis:

Lyna, a young warrior-sorceress, roams the world, looking for a place to belong while hunting and destroying every bane core she can find—objects of pure evil that bring madness and misery wherever they appear.

Her next quarry lies in the isolated village of Tanasu, located at the edge of civilization and bordering the Territories of Sij, the land of her ancestors. There, Lyna hopes to destroy the deadliest core she’s ever faced and maybe find a place to call home.

But with each use of her powers, Lyna loses a part of herself; a memory of her past, a remnant of her spirit, a piece of her strength and youth. And when she only finds death and a cursed land in Tanasu, Lyna starts to question if her efforts are making a difference and if there is any hope for this world, and for herself.

Now Lyna must decide. Abandon her quest and leave the world to fend for itself? Or continue what has become a hopeless fight—at the risk of surrendering her very soul?

 

The Story Behind the Story:

Thank you Allan for having me once again on the South Branch Scribbler. The idea for this series developed over the course of many, many years. ‘Surrender’ takes place in an imaginary world known as Arvelas. I created it as a young teenager, when I first started playing table-top role-playing games. I have been traveling there, writing stories and hosting role-playing games, for over 35 years. Arvelas is a world I know well, a place I love deeply.

While at university, I hosted a series of gaming sessions. During one of these games, a character played by one of the players went to the Netherworld, or underground world, to rescue his mother who was a prisoner there. This character is none other than Onthar, the main protagonist in ‘The Conclave’, one of my published books. During this quest, Onthar was captured and imprisoned in the mines of Quartas, a dangerous and bleak place where workers are slaves with little hope of escape. This is where Onthar met Lyna, a young shadow elf, for the first time. In exchange for her help escaping from his cell, Onthar promised to help her reach the Surface, the world above ground. As we learn in ‘Surrender’, Onthar was true to his word and brought Lyna with him all the way to the city of Telstar.

From the first time I met Lyna during this gaming session, I knew that she was destined to play a major role in Arvelas. I wanted to learn more about her, her past, and see if she could find a new place to call home in Arvelas. Although I hosted many other role-playing games over the following years, I was never able to explore Lyna’s story. It is in one of these games, though, that some sinister objects of pure evil first appeared: the bane cores.

A few years ago, I was between stories and pondering what to write next. The reception I had received for ‘The Conclave’ had been extremely positive and a few readers had asked if I was planning on writing more stories in Arvelas. The answer was always yes. It was just a question of when to write, and what to write.

I believe that I mulled over this for a few days, playing with a wide array of ideas, perusing some old notes. What stood out were the bane cores, introduced in the gaming sessions I mentioned previously. These objects were not destroyed during the games we played. In fact, by the end, they were stronger and the future of Arvelas was quite bleak. These objects had to be dealt with, if only to satiate my curiosity as to what was going to happen to Arvelas next. While considering what and if I could write anything about these objects, I stumbled on my notes for the gaming sessions of Onthar in the Netherworld. One name stood out then: Lyna di’Stavan.

There, I had it... the main protagonist.

I already had the setting: Arvelas. I had objects of pure evil that needed to be destroyed. I had thought for a while of exploring a new genre: dark fantasy.

I had most of the ingredients for a brand new series.

What was missing? Well, that would have to be discovered after I sat down, and started to write.

 

Website: Please go HERE.

An Excerpt from ‘Surrender’

A cart pulled by a single gray horse appeared on the crest of the hill. At its helm, a bulky man held the reins in one hand and the edge of his cowl in the other. As the cart made its way down the slope, the wheels left two muddy trails in the snow.

Lyna stepped off the road, conceding the way. Above, the dark sky reminded her of her motherland, its thick clouds forming a ceiling just as compact as the cavernous rocks of Karlynas. Although it was midmorning, the sun had yet to show its face.

Since she had branched off toward the north, leaving the Green Road that had once connected the realms of Tilia and Istagon, darkness had gotten heavier, bleeding freely into the day. The phenomenon was anything but natural and Lyna wondered if this was a manifestation of the Territories of Sij, her intended destination.

The cart slowed down and stopped in front of Lyna. A treated canvas covered a significant quantity of merchandise in the back. Most likely a peddler.

Beside the man, on the end of a pole, a pendant in the shape of a leaf swung left and right. The symbol of Mitra, deity of protection and healing. It was common practice in these lands to display one on your travels.

“Turn back,” said the driver, without looking her way. A large nose and a black beard stuck out of the hood. The hair was unnaturally dark, most likely oiled and colored. “You heard me?”

“I did,” said Lyna.

At her voice, the man turned his head sideways. “I know that accent,” he said.

Lyna doubted he did. She also knew he could not make out her face hidden inside her own hood.

“An elf, from Quilanis?”

“No,” said Lyna.

She was not welcome in Quilanis. The Quil’an didn’t think favorably of their cousins from the Nether.

The man snorted, as if he did not believe her. The horse puffed, wanting to leave. It was a beautiful animal, its coat thick and smooth. Even though it was not the typical mount a knight would ride, Lyna guessed that it originated from Erlinia.

The peddler let the animal take a few steps. The wheels of the cart creaked as they went in and out of a hole.

“No matter,” he said. “Turn around. Whatever business you have in this place isn’t worth your while.”

At the man’s feet, Lyna noticed a single boot, on top of which rested a torn cloak. Both garments were too small for the driver.

“What happened to your partner?” she asked.

The man looked down and touched the cloak. “This land is cursed, and the village…”

The peddler shook his head.

“What happened?” Lyna asked again.

“They took him!” he said. “They took him and they gave him to the woods.”

“A sacrifice?”

“Call it what you want. I say it’s insanity.”

“Who did this?”

“The villagers. The Territories muddle their minds. Who can blame them?” The man shifted as if to look over his shoulder, but stopped himself.

“I thought only the Red Shield were allowed to ban captives into Sij.”

“Officially, yes. But who would know? This is the end of the world. No one cares what happens here.”

“Some care enough to come all this way and trade.”

The man stared at her and mumbled something she could not make out.

The horse took another step. “Turn back,” repeated the peddler. “This is my advice to a fellow traveler, freely given. Heed the warning of an honest trader, I say, and return from whence you came.”

With those words, the peddler whipped the reins and the horse jumped forward—and Lyna stretched time, suddenly, with great force. The cart’s movements slowed down, as if it was pushing through thick quicksand, slowed until the cart barely moved.

Lyna closed her eyes and took a deep breath, enjoying the flow of energies whirling around her and through her, feeling relief, feeling free, and feeling the cold and dominant presence of the core to the north.

When she opened her eyes, the peddler and the horse had not budged, one of the man’s hands open and reaching but not yet touching his cowl, which had moved back ever so slightly under the wind.

Lyna went to the back of the cart, untied a hemp rope, and lifted the canvas. Under, on one side, elongated wooden boxes were stacked from front to back. Food, most likely oats, some vegetables, possibly even flour. Common items, but it made sense that a village as isolated as Tanasu would welcome such wares. It made less sense that the peddler would leave without selling any of it.

On the other side, round casks held beer, wine, or a combination of both. The containers were in passable condition. Farther down, one leaked and the smell suggested that its contents were as cheap as the barrel they were stored in.

Lyna retied the rope and stepped back to her initial position. Something was not right. She had half expected to find a body hidden in the back of the cart. She wondered why she cared and realized she didn’t.

Once again, she had called upon her ability to drink from it, not because it served any useful purpose. She hated how craven she had become, how dependent. Yet she hesitated to let go of the energy. What harm would it do if she held on just a little longer? The energy flowed around her, caressed her, swaddled her. She almost felt safe in this place between realities, where time bent to her will.

Safe and reinvigorated… momentarily. The reassuring feeling was an illusion. Dizziness and disorientation would follow, her body aching for the power, demanding it. For now though, for just an instant, Lyna felt at peace.

She breathed in deeply and reluctantly let go. Time flowed back to normal, and instantly the horse’s hooves found the ground and jerked the cart forward. It quickly gained speed.

The peddler kept his head low and didn’t look back. For him and his horse, the short pause had never taken place. The cart negotiated the partially hidden road fairly well, Lyna’s own prints hinting as to where it was. A few moments later, the peddler and his wares disappeared between the trees at the bottom of the hill.

Thanks for sharing the good news, Steve. 

I’m anxious to get my hands on a copy. 

Thanks also for being our guest this week. 

We wish you continued success with your writing.

And another HUGE Thank You to all our visitors and readers.

Feel free to tell us what’s on your mind.