Talking a bit about the third project I've been working on...

Wow it's been a while since my last post. :/


So I have been working on three projects pretty much simultaneously; any time one is not coming easily, one of the others takes over and I still have plenty to do.


Currently, the next book of the Spellscribed series is very important to me. My second book, MOON FALL, will be important, but not yet. The third project though, is a bit of an attention hog. Whenever I am tired of writing for Spellscribed, this third project is on my mind.


I know that some fantasy readers are gamers, and some gamers are fantasy readers, but that doesn't mean that all of my current fanbase would be interested in project 3.


I'm working on a Roleplaying Game system. It's currently called "Lost Server", and it's a tabletop roleplaying game where you play a person who is trapped in a fantasy world styled MMORPG. This is akin to a few other media sources out there (Those of you who watch anime may see a few series that rings a bell). But also along the lines of TRON.


The system is meant to incorporate the feel of a MMORPG without all the whole 'gotta buy the game and log in and find friends and form a party and go wipe on a dungeon fifty times' appeal that some games have. This way you can sit with friends around a gaming table and play something that will have the feel of a game but without the drag of an overly complicated system. In fact, the at-a-glance information should be pretty high for this game, as I am working on a visually pleasing and informative aesthetic. System-wise, it should be simple and relatively easy to learn, but have a lot of depth available for players who want to get into the meat and potatoes of the system.


Anyways, I was just popping on to see if anyone has an interest in something like this. I also need to see if there was anyone who is interested in doing a little art for the book; I need some evocative imagery for the setting.


... Perhaps once I'm done with the Spellscribed series I'll put my mind to work making the setting for playing in that world. :D

Post-publication: Spellscribed Conviction Impressions

So Spellscribed Conviction had received more... animated responses than I had been anticipating.

That being an understatement to some people, a few readers expressed their distaste over the way the book came to a conclusion. Now to reduce spoilers I will not be talking about the specific events that happened, but I will talk about it in general.

I feel that while some people vehemently opposed the way the book ended, things happened the way I wanted to make them happen. But, that's not to say that my plans are perfect nor that I am infallible. However, I don't regret the way I did it. It got Endrance where he needed to be to do the most help for the most people.

I think I have to keep reminding myself that I'm still a new author to the publishing world. I've only put out 5 books, three of them full length novels. I will make mistakes, but that means I have more to learn and room to improve.

I think... from what this book has taught me... is that Time-Skips are not liked.

I can understand. After all, the readers want to know what happened during that period of time and I left a lot to the imagination. Though to be fair I have reasons.

I feel that what happened in those moments were stories about characters that were worthy enough to warrant more time and page space than I could fit into Conviction which is more Endrance-centric. Using the Spellscribed Tales books, I can take side or secondary characters in Spellscribed and make them the protagonist of their own stories.

The next Spellscribed Tales book will contain two more stories from during Conviction. I hope that Second Refrain sheds some light on sections people were hoping to see more of.

And most of all, thank you for your support and patience with me as I grow as an author.

Spellscribed Provenance : Revised Edition!

Hello everyone!

So the one thing that most people said detracted from my first book... was the deeply seeded grammar errors and occasional crazy sentence structure. I was baffled that it was such a problem but overall pleased that the book turned out so well regardless.

However, I've had the book overhauled. It was gone over, looked at, and re-edited.

I... I actually have a confession to make. During the initial setup of Provenance, there had been a mix up with the files and I ended up uploading the wrong copy of the manuscript. For nearly two years I've had the unedited version on Amazon. I am so embarrassed that I have hired excavation equipment to dig a hole deep enough to crawl into that only dwarves would be able to find me.

However, I made sure to upload the newly redone and re-edited format of the manuscript. It should be live in a day, and I've already alerted Amazon and they should allow anyone who has already purchased my manuscript to re-download the updated one.

I'm so terribly sorry for this. I'm going to go hide for the few weeks until Conviction comes out.

~Kristopher Cruz

Spellscribed Conviction is available to Pre-Order!

Hello everyone!

I am most pleased to announce that Spellscribed: Conviction is now available for Pre-Order! The book will be on the digital shelved December 8th!

I would like to ask that you tell your friends, family, and any fans of the series that you know! Word of mouth has been the most effective means of getting this series out there and I am thankful for everyone you have told about my books!

I know this has been a long time coming, so without further ado:
http://www.amazon.com/dp/B00OUTZ2V4

Book 3 Announcement Part 2!

After some unexpected delays and getting wrapped up in finishing the book, I completely forgot to put up the new cover here. I'm sorry; my bad. (This is why I need a publicist.)
Here's the new cover for Spellscribed Conviction!

Additionally, the book preorders will be opening up November 1st, for a early December release date!

Book 3 Announcements!

Hello everyone!

Been a while, I know. I've been busy with work and moving and my grandmother falling ill and, well, it seems like pretty much everything that can go wrong, has. Thanks Murphy.

However, thanks for your patience! The next book of the Spellscribed series is called SPELLSCRIBED: CONVICTION and will be hitting the digital bookshelves before December! I'm sorry this took longer than expected, but it will be done when it's good and ready, and not a moment sooner! Tune in this weekend for a sneak peak at the snazzy new cover art for CONVICTION!

(Pre Orders will be available about a month before it goes on sale)

MOON FALL - CHAPTER ONE

 

"Hey Crowe, did you hear?" Glass-eyed Gary said to me, winking his one good eye. He was just loud enough to be heard over the one man band playing in the corner. "They say the Nightstalker's returned. Just hit a dirigible just off the coast of the Carolinas."

I hesitated, shot glass halfway to my lips. The clear liquid within sloshed silently against the sides before I finish the motion, downing the drink before setting the glass on the bar counter top. Cool and quick, the water is only as refreshing as if I had splashed it on my face. I turned and looked Gary's way.
"I apologize." I began. "What did you say?"
The saloon was one of the cleanest establishments in Newsome City. Finely polished, the hardwood bore hours and hours of hand tooled vines and leaves in every available surface and filled in with transparent wax. The wood had a warm feeling to it that was improved by the cheery red velvety colors of the seat cushions and draperies. The expert sounds of the band's brass instruments was peppy and cheerful.
It clashed miserably with my sudden sense of confusion.
Glass-eyed Gary shuffled onto the stool next to me. The man was a portly sort, sallow faced but never somber. Ever since the airship accident that cost him his eye, he developed an exuberant energy far greater than one would think could be attained by someone maimed in such a manner.
One of the local sawbones had fixed him up excellently, but his eye was already a distant memory. Instead, Gary had a monocle mounted on an eye patch he wears over his ruined eye. The thing is his namesake, and he, as usual, was in high spirits. His suit jacket hung on the rack alongside mine, and his purple trim vest and white shirt looked clean and crisply pressed. He was a clean dressed, finely scented member of Newsome City's society.
"I said." Gary told me. "That the Nightstalker has returned!"
Well that's impossible. I sighed. "So tell me," I shot back at him. "Where did you hear that?"
Gary smiled at me, adjusting his monocle. "I thought you'd never ask!" He declared.
"My cousin Franco working the skydocks was expecting a shipment from one of the trade dirigibles that come in every month." Gary starts. "But it never came in. So three days later Franco gets the city to dispatch a cutter to see if we can render assistance, help tow them into town, what not."
I nod, gesturing to the barkeep for another drink. The mustached man nods, setting down the glass he was polishing to pour me another shot of filtered water. He slides it down the bar, and I catch it carefully. I set another nickel on the table and turn my attention back to Gary.
"So they set out." Gary continued, as if I had been paying attention the whole time. "And lo, they find most of the ship's wreckage scattered all over three square miles of ocean!"
I toss back the water and set the glass down. "Did they try to set down?" I asked. "Dangerous to try it out over the Atlantic."
Gary waved to the bartender. "I'll have something with a little more kick, please." he said, placing a quarter on the bar. Luis dug under the bar and pulled out a thick dark glass bottle. He poured some into a short glass and set it onto the counter. Luis pocketed the quarter while Gary took a sip of the drink.
"Ah..." he said. "This was your what, 14?"
"1812." Luis replied, putting the bottle away. "Hard to find these days."
"Hard to find any liquor of this quality before the fall." Gary replied.
I lean back. "I've got to be going, mate." I mutter. Gary grabbed my arm before I could fully hop off the stool.
"Wait." he says. The humor fading from his face. "They didn't break up trying to put her down in the ocean, and they hadn't been hit by a moonfall. From the wreckage they found a single survivor."
I pull myself back into my seat. "A survivor?" I ask.
Gary nods. "A survivor. She was delirious from being afloat in the water for nearly two days by the time Franco got to her."
"Did she survive?" I ask. "What did she say?"
Gary shrugged. "Franco said she muttered something about sails as black as deepest night, and silent as the grave. Then she was too out of it to speak any further. She's at the Sawbone's right now sleeping it off."
I frown. The Sawbones, whose name was Victor, was a competent chirurgeon and field doctor. In a trade town like Newsome, zeppelin sailors almost always came into port with some injury or another in need of treatment. Occasionally there'd be a mishap at the dock, like what happened to Gary. She'd be in good hands.
"Silent as the grave." I mutter.
"Quiet your voice!" Mister Sluice whispered harshly. "Ya'll remember your part?"
I nod my head alongside five other men and women. Dressed in black cloth, tightly fit leather packs and flirearms at our hips. We each clutch a skyhook in our hands, the silver sheen dulled with rubbed on soot.
"Good." Sluice whispers. The creak of the sails is the only sound heard over the sound of the wind slipping past our hull. He leans over the side, glancing down. He turns back to us. "They'll be under us in ten seconds. Go!"
We jump.
I look up at Gary. "Was the goods missing?"
Gary nods. "Hundreds of pounds of foodstock, gone. Three cannons and twelve defenders."
I shook my head. "There had to be something more valuable than that. The Nightstalker never hit a ship just for food."
Gary grimaces. "Well, chap." He replies. "I haven't heard from the investigator or anything, but Franco was waiting to get a shipment of ground Lunarite from New York. It was, of course, missing too."
I plunge through the sky, the wind whistling in my ears. Below us, an airship continues her nighttime voyage, unaware of our rapid descent. I sling the skyhook, holding the release button as I do. The hooked silver head shoots out on a thin metal cable, biting into the wooden mizzenmast of the ship. I fall past the first row of sails, the skyhook snapping taut when I let go of the button. I arc through the air in a somersault, landing silently on the deck. I do a quick headcount. We had all landed on the deck of the ship. A quick flick of the wrist and our skyhooks retract effortlessly.
I look Gary in his good eye, and speak evenly. "How much?" I ask.
Gary shakes his head. "I don't know for sure." he starts.
"Gary." I interrupt. "How much."
"At least twenty pounds." he admits. "I can't be sure exactly how much, but Franco was looking to get it for Dr. Buck over in the Newsome outer limits. You could ask him if you're feeling brave."
Dr. Buck... He's one of those scientist-types who have more brains than common sense. His experiments tend to work, and several have been sold for a high price to protect the city. However... some of his more spectacular failures have left both doctors and the fire brigade quite busy on occasion.
The four men on watch that night didn't see us land near the rear of the vessel. We advanced, and four of us slink closer to the watchmen while one covered the doors leading belowdecks. Above was the pilot, and my job. I carefully creep up the steps to the Forecastle, pulling back the hammer of my flirearm. I get in position, and see the pilot tending the ship's wheels and gauges.
"Now!" I exclaim, loud enough to be heard by the others.
We stand as one. The pilot turns when he hears my voice. Shock registers on his face.
I try to blink away the memories. "No, I'll talk to him only if I have to." I try to sound confident, but I'm starting to wish I had ordered some alcohol instead of water.
"Just be careful if you plan on setting out to any ruins, all right?" Gary says with a wink, his humor quickly returning. "I don't want to see my favorite scavenger get kidnapped by pirates."
I stand, and walk to the coat rack. My coat is a bit threadworn compared to Gary, but I don't really make a lot of money scrounging; just enough to get by.
"Sure thing." I say, slipping the coat on over my vest. The familiar weight of the derringer in my right pocket settles comfortably at my side.
"I tell you, the Nightstalker is back. I guarantee it." Gary says before turning his attention to his old world scotch.
I turn, pop my hat off the hook over my coat and settle it on my head.
The pilot's shock only increases as I pull the trigger, hitting him in square in the chest. The puff of smoke was precluded by the sharp whistle of lunarite powder igniting. The pilot fell to the deck, dead or dying. I slip forward and pull the levers to all ahead stop, cutting off the propellers.
I look up as my ship, the Nightstalker, swept in on silent sails outspread like a kite's wings. Captain Montresser would be pleased.
I look over the saloon one more time before slipping out into the dark of the night. "I hope that it isn't." I whisper to myself. "Because the Nighstalker is dead."
I set off at a slow pace down the stairs, the damp misty air caressing my cheeks and ears as I walk. The steps down from the fourteenth floor were dimly lit. The saloon, named Rudyard's, was one of the few establishments at the top of the city.
The light from the burning gas lamps set at every intersection provided dim ambient light in an otherwise dark city. Built like a fort, the outer walls were two foot thick solid stone, reinforced with iron bands and gaslamp spotlights to look out for threats. The city streets were orderly, neat grids of cobblestones that were neatly split down the center with half foot wide sewer grates.
The telltale 'click click tang!' of a street sweeper reaches my ears right as I'm about to take the final step off the stairs, so I pause. I hold the brim of my hat so the bowler wouldn't fly off when it passed.
The street sweeper, driven by one of the cleaners, was a strange mechanical beast. Made of brass and iron, the metal monstrosity was designed to look like a water strider, with four dinner plate sized wheels on the end of mechanical limbs. It's belly was split down the middle, and either side had two larger brush wheels that scrubbed the street. They were aligned so that they pushed any debris into the center sewage drain. The tail of the thing stuck down, and stuck into the sewer grate directly below it. The 'click click tang' was the sound of the tail dragging along each segment of grate, spraying water.
The pilot rode on top, guiding it with a set of four switch-handled levers that looked more complicated than would be necessary. That seat was at the very front, the open air 'head'. Behind the seat was a large brass tank of water sitting over the steam engine powering it, with the tail coming out the far back end. The main body was eight feet above the streets, the brushwheels being quite large in size.
The cleaner tipped his hat at me as he motored on by, his goggles spattered with grime. The steam engine puffed and hissed, audible at close range. It moved at the speed of a man jogging, so it must have been burning ordinary coal.
Belowdecks, the six of us are the first to start the search through the hold. We tear through several trunks before we found the chest. An iron strongbox, it weighs nearly two-hundred pounds. Verner and Lucy were the strongest of us, so they carry it up out of the hold. Around us the other members of our crew dug through the pockets of the dead for valuables, gleaned the discards we left behind for anything of worth. Looting wasn't our responsibility; we were there on a mission.
I watch Lucy and Verner set the trunk down in front of Mister Sluice. The man stooped and ran his hand over the metal.
"Open it." he commands, stepping back.
I start to step forward, but Verner reached down and started picking the lock. He quickly had it off, and threw open the lid.
The strongbox had four bars of gold in it, each weighing over forty pounds. But the center of the box was full of chalky white pebbles. In the starlight they look almost opalescent.
I step out into the street now that the vehicle had passed. Ordinarily the street sweepers try to avoid running over civilians, but accidents have happened. Usually getting hit by the brush-wheels was only messy and embarrassing. The road clear, I set off north towards my apartment.
I spent the last two years prospecting for Newsome City, but I've never really gotten any large claims. Many of the obvious ones are too dangerous to go to without a heavily armed escort, and the really big sites in the cities are sheer suicide to land anywhere near. Even the air is toxic and I've been told that some of the cities are still burning.
I manage to get to my apartment without meeting another soul, which was already a bit suspicious to me. I don't expect company in the late night, but there's enough homeless and destitute that I expected to run into someone along the way.
I climb the steps to my apartment, and the hairs on the back of my neck start to stand up. Instinctively I shove my hand into my coat pocket. The cold steel of the derringer sticks to my sweating palm as I climb the next step, anticipating violence.
Maybe I'm just paranoid.
I reach the landing for the third floor, and find that someone had turned the gas lamp down, snuffing it out. Before stepping onto the landing, I do something most wouldn't; I close my eyes, hold my breath and listen. It was something I learned to do a long time ago, and it has already saved my life several times.
Mr. Sluice plucked up one of the pebbles, looking it over. His expression slowly changing from one of concentration to a scowl.
"Ballocks!" Sluice exclaimed, dropping the pebble back into the pile. "Our informant was wrong. That's lunarite, but it's only half the purity we were told!"
A strong, clear woman's voice shouts over the sound of both ships steam engines. The captain.
"We've been set up, boys!" she cried, standing on the forecastle of The Nightstalker. "Disengage and prepare for combat!"
I look up from the chest to see three New American ships closing in on us, their decks alight with men prepping cannons. One of them fires a volley, cannonshot blasting into the ship we had just captured. Two men were sent screaming off the side, while the rest of us scramble to get what we had in our hands aboard the Nightstalker.
Another volley of cannonshot barely missed our vessel as Captain Montresser spun the wheel, jerking us out of the way of most of it. One cannonshot grazed the deck only a yard from me, sending splinters into my shins but otherwise leaving me intact.
"They mean to board us!" Mr. Sluice cried out, pointing. Each of the three ships had at least a dozen soldiers on deck, sabers drawn and firearms in hand.
"They will try!" Captain Montresser replied. "Prepare for boarders!"
I raise my skyhook. It was time to fight.
I caught the sound of someone taking a breath and holding it right after mine, and another breathing quiet and shallow a few paces closer to me. I didn't hear more than the two. I dig my free hand into a belt pouch and withdrew a packet of flashpowder. I let out my held breath and step off the stairs.
I sense, more than hear the whistle of something coming for my head. I duck frantically, and something cleanly takes my hat off my head and hits the iron newel post, causing a dull Clang to ring through the night. The bastard killed my hat with a lead pipe!
I lurch forward, ramming my shoulder into the man's gut, knocking him back. Whoever he was, his gut was densely packed muscle. Couldn't be a scavenger or petty thief, probably ex-
military or pro enforcer.
I throw my packet of flash powder at the wall next to us as I squeeze my eyes shut. The rough iron pellet in the packet grinds with the gunpowder and phosphorus, exploding with a dull pop and a bright flash of light that I could see through my eyelids. Since I was prepared, I am able to act while they recover.
The guy next to me grunts, and the pipe clips my shoulder as I try to stand, pain radiating dully from where it tapped me. I duck again, but instead of ramming him I wrap my arms around his calf and heave, standing as I grunt with effort.
The man was thrown off balance, and with my help, went right over the balcony. A scream burst out for a brief moment before the Crunk of a body hitting cobblestones interrupted it. It was only the third floor, there was a good chance he'd survive.
...Did I mention I don't fight fair?
I turn to the other and point the derringer. "Don't move." I growl, clicking the hammer into place. The other person's breathing stopped.
"You're going to tell me who sent you, and then you're going to walk out of here unharmed." I declare, reaching out for the gaslight valve. The valve turns, clicking a flint built into the mechanism and igniting the lamp. Light flooded the third floor landing.
Beatrice Landau stood over the unconscious body of the second enforcer, a needle sticking from his neck. She pulled the steel needle out, wiped it down with a silk handkerchief, and slid it into the leather pocket designed to hold two dozen needles in their own little steel capped sleeves. She clicked the clasp of the pocket closed and smiled at me.
"It seems that I had some competition for your attention." she said demurely.
I roll my eyes. I've heard about her and seen her on occasion, though usually not personally. She was an acrobat by day and professional entrepreneur by night... I basically labeled her a cat burglar.
She was wearing a long skirt, knee high aviator's boots, and a black short sleeve blouse with gold thread trim. She had finger-less brown leather gloves that matched her boots and her raven black hair was done up in a bun held in place with ivory sticks she must have gotten at great expense. Her face was plain, though she was in excellent condition from her time as an acrobat.
"It seems I'm popular tonight." I mutter.
I don't lower the gun. She glances at the derringer's barrel and then back to me. "I'm glad you didn't shoot in the dark, you might have hit me."
"I still might." I admit, wavering the tiny gun on purpose. "These derringers are made with hair triggers. Any sudden moves and it might go off."
Her eyes widened. "You'd shoot little old me?"
I shrug with the shoulder of my free hand. "Well, you didn't tell me who sent you. I can't guarantee you'll walk out unharmed. I have to be a man of my word."
Beatrice raises an eyebrow and frowns at me. "I didn't know a Sky Pirate could be a man of his word. You must have truly turned over a new leaf."
I almost shoot her that instant.
"You're mistaken." I growl. "I'm Isaac Crowe. I'm a prospector from-"
"Please, let's drop the facade." she interrupts me. "And put the gun down."
"No."
She sighs. "Not going to make this easy, are you?" she asks.
"Nope."
"Fine." she huffs. I almost miss the strange twist of her wrist.
I lurch back, trying to pull the trigger on the derringer. Something shiny flits through the air at me and I feel a sting in my hand in almost the same instant. The gun doesn't fire.
What on earth? My hand goes numb, but it doesn't go loose. The firearm is still clutched in it and quickly the numb feeling spreads up my forearm to my elbow.
It's a strange sensation, like I had fallen asleep on my arm.
"Do you like that?" Miss Landau asks, "I think I did manage to hit a nerve."
"What did you do?" I ask.
She smiles at me and waves a hand like it's nothing. "Oh, just a little Chinese secret I learned from a family of railroad workers a few years back." she replies. "Their medicine is quite intermixed with their mysticism. Why, did you know that I could have hit a nerve in your arm and stopped your heart?"
I try to make my hand move. Nothing. The needle protrudes from just above my wrist. I grab the tip that sticks out. She shouldn't have given me the time-
"Oh I wouldn't do that." she replied. "That nerve that stops your heart... well it's right next to the one that can paralyze your arm. You might hit it if you pull it out wrong."
I let my arm drop with a sigh, the needle still protruding. I had no way of knowing if she was lying. She seemed sincere.
"So," I mutter. "What do you want?"
She smiled at me again. "Tea would be a fabulous start. Then we can talk about a business proposition I have for you that could make you rich."