Hello world!

I am R.A. Iscalon, author of the Chronicles of Taenith series and writer of other strange stories. I decided to start a blog, and I have no idea what I'm doing! 😄 

Please be patient while I create the most amazing blog of all time!




Comments

Post a Comment

Other Popular Posts

76,916,983

  76,916,983 said it’s okay. It’s okay to stage a coup. It’s okay to be impeached. Twice. It’s okay to rape women. It's okay to be a pedophile. It’s okay to praise dictators. It’s okay to demonize your opponents. It's okay to label us, “the enemy within.” It’s okay to destroy democracy. It’s okay to let the world burn. It’s okay to be a felon. It's okay to be a fascist. 76,916,983 said it’s okay. So maybe, Trump was right. The United States is garbage. And so are you,
Read more

Parched

Parched By R.A. Iscalon             Cola clenched her jaw, the reflection of her hard pale gaze staring back from the viewport. Polluted skies choked the city streets below, suffocating its denizens in an orange haze - a stark contrast to the vibrant greens and blues she remembered. Moiste’s oceans, once a canvas of such colors, was now a vast empty waste - a gray stain of corporate residue drenched in acid rain. Even the trees, once revered for their resilience against nature’s wrath, were but husks. Their skeletal remains stretched across the bleak horizon. But even they threatened to retreat into dust.             Frustrated, Cola turned her back on the blighted planet, and strode to her throne. Her attendant, Sazerac, stood waiting there, his bleeding red eyes trained on his Strictess.             “Are you alright,...
Read more

The Ring Thief - Chapter 0 - Prologue

  Prologue Eotera’s pale moon was blanketed by a tapestry of dancing stars and singing winds. They hung over vast, carcass-peppered deserts that bled along the breaking dawn. Indeed, the moon’s immortal beauty was ever removed from the dry, fraying reality of life beneath it. Not the prayers of the crying, nor the wails of the dying could penetrate the thick wall of heaven’s beauty. Where the night’s cold sky painted a brilliant portrait of hope, festering blood and mangled corpses caked the sands and streets below, in a city known as Lune, home to the draconian race, and named after their patron deity, Lunas. Under her watchful gaze, human apostles, adorned in plate armor, filed over oceanic piles of dead descendants of dragon kind. Under devotion to their pantheonic deities, it mattered not whether those they paraded against were young or old. As the beastly soldiers climbed up the streets with their unshaven beards and greasy hair, unclean from months of marching to the golden c...
Read more