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Author: LG Surgeson
Book: The Winter That Follows from The Black River Chronicles Series
LG Surgeson lives in the Wilds of Wales because it’s better than the real world and writes novels in the spare time she creates by not sleeping properly.
Born in 1980 in Durban South Africa, shortly afterward she found herself being whisked North to a childhood in Southern England. Leaving the comfort of the family home for West Wales, she studied Physics and Maths at the University of Wales, Aberystwyth before qualifying as a teacher in 2004. Since then, she has been gainfully occupied trying to convince teenagers that mathematics isn’t evil and failing to move out of West Wales and back to the real world. She has two cats that like to help. They aren’t very good at it.
The Summer of Fire has burned away. The younger gods and their champion have defeated Krynok the Hunter, who had called himself the All-Father. General Salamander has been destroyed and slowly Tartaria is reuniting to heal the Clans and the land. The world has been left dazed and flattened, trying to pick up the pieces. Those that have survived find themselves standing amongst the ruins with empty hearts, waiting for faces they will never see again. It has not occurred to many that this might be the greatest challenge of all.
Once the glorious struggles of the Summer are over, somehow you have to find a way to live through the winter that follows.
The Winter That Follows: Aberddu Adventure
is an excellent background to the other tales in the series. The characters are rich and deep, and give the feeling of having lived. Also it was nice to see a little more of the rich world in which these tales are set. I look forward to the next in the series.
The Black River Chronicles by LG Surgeson are a fun and interesting fantasy world adventure story of the old school. With brave adventures and evil so and so’s.
Charlie heaved the barrel up through the trap door and lumped it down beside the other two. It was unusually quiet this morning. The Law Temple nine-hour bell had rung long since, and yet there was no noise in the street. He wiped his forehead and hands with his apron and went to the door of the Tavern.
Charlie was used to goblins, some of his best customers were goblins. In fairness he didn’t have many customers that weren’t goblins – which is what happens if you open a bar called ‘The Startling Toad’.
Today was suffering from a conspicuous lack of goblins. The sound of no goblins always made Charlie nervous. It usually meant they were up to something. Mind you, goblins were up to something whether you could hear them or not, but if you couldn’t hear them it meant they were up to something organised. Charlie was still recovering from the chicken rustling plot of 1099ac, he couldn’t live through that again – militia, goblins and chicken feathers everywhere and he was still finding grain in places he could have sworn he had cleaned. He tried to rack his brains, what had he heard? One of them had been muttering about the Temple district he thought, and another couple had been mumbling about the Adventurers Guild. He hoped it was the Temple District. It was already a pile of rubble and therefore there wasn’t much more damage they could really do to it. If it was the Adventurers Guild things were not likely to go so well. The combination of a bunch of self-obsessed hero types and a load of piss-head goblin dock-hands was not something that Charlie wanted to contemplate at this hour of the day.
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