The Frewyn Herald: Home of the Haanta Series

Being a shameless INTJ, a natural allergy to humanity must follow, and what better way to canvas my failings at social interaction than writing about it. I Hate Everyone, the sequel to I Hate Summer , will be available this coming winter. And now, a sample chapter, detailing my continued war with the Bad Man: Find my non-fiction series HERE I t was a brisk morning, and just as I was about to leave the keep, to welter in the cool and cloudy weather and cackle at all the children crooning about having to return to school a few days hence, when there was a timid rap at the door. The musical cadence of the knock suggested a neighbour, and as there was no caroming din from the stairs, someone from my floor must be outside. The Gods blessed me with early autumnal weather and slighted me with a most unwelcome visitor. I opened the door, and standing on the landing, looking rather deplorable, was the Bad Man, his tool box in hand, his overalls slumping over his wilted shoulders...

In the grand list of things Bartleby hates, being called a goblin ranks highest, alongside raucous children, broken biscuits, and weak tea. In truth, no one really knows Bartleby's history but himself. He was born in Marridon to Marridonian parents, but was given up when he was young once it became more financially logical to keep him at school and away from home. He was science professor at Marridon Academy for sometime, but after being maligned by the Dean of Studies, he joined Danaco's crew, and has been their cavernous library goblins ever since. R annig’s eyes vanished from the hatch, the sound of a besom and bucket being put aside followed, and a moment later, he was walking down the stairs into Bartleby’s den, his sensibleness at last giving way to his curiosity. The deck could wait: the rest of the crew was still moving about, and he should finish his sweeping when everyone else should turn in for the night, which was not likely to be for another few hours hence,...

One of Bartleby's greatest joys in life is making a new scientific discovery. He actively looks for new things to be pedantically excited about, and discovering Peppone in all his fungal glory is one of the greatest scientific achievements of his life. B artleby’s brows folded over themselves, and he spied his subject from over the rim of his spectacles, canting his head and stroking his whiskers. “Hrm, no, I don’t think removing those will be necessary,” he decided. “I am a scientist, but I am not a physician, and whilst I know anatomy, you appear to be a member of some unfamiliar sapiens sub-species, like the boy. Nobody should be touching you without gloves and sterilized instruments.”                 Peppone wondered what impotent implements had to do with anything and exchanged an implied shrug with Rannig, whose upside down eyebrows shrugged for him.        ...

The sequel to Baba Connridh, The Favour of the Gods, featuring everyone's favourite God of Justice will be out in September! Enjoy the first excerpt: E very Gods’ Day morning, when those who concede to be frightened awake by the stream of sunlight blazing through their windows for the sake of sermon, the people of Frewyn congregate in the public square   in their given villages and municipalities, to be wished into artlessness and out of reason, corralled into chancels and crowded into naves, for the chance of hearing a few pretty words by unhandsome men about the Gods and Their Honoured Merits, and after a few hours of listening to the droning din of High Brothers and Sisters reading from the Good Book and glorying in its praises, the parishioners offer their languid Aconnas and hasten to the cenation prepared at the back of the church, where the real lesson in patience and civility begins: the poor are invited command of the table, the flock bleets for ale and wine, someon...