Jejak Kupu-kupu

Alissa merasa terpukul ketika roda kehidupan memutarbalikkan nasibnya. Dia yang terbiasa dengan kemewahan tiba-tiba harus menjadi penghuni panti asuhan ketika orang tuanya meninggal karena kecelakaan. Apalagi, Danu, si pengelola panti yang sebetulnya tampan itu, bersikap dingin dan keras padanya. Pulang malam tidak boleh, pacaran dimarahi, apalagi bersenang-senang dengan gengnya di kafe. Betul-betul menyebalkan. Belum lagi setumpuk tugas di panti yang harus dilakukan sesuai pembagian.

Namun, lambat laun Alissa berubah. Dari gadis manja dia menjadi gadis mandiri. Dari yang hanya memikirkan diri sendiri, dia mulai memperhatikan dan menolong kesulitan teman-temannya di panti. Dari gadis kaya yang boros menjadi gadis yang hemat dan memanfaatkan uang sedikit yang dimilikinya dengan baik.

Tapi perubahan yang paling besar adalah perasaannya terhadap Danu. Dari benci dia malah mencintai pria itu mati-matian. Dia tidak peduli walaupun umur yang terbentang di antara mereka cukup jauh. Dan dia yakin, bahwa sebetulnya dia tidak bertepuk sebelah tangan. Tapi, kenapa Danu selalu menyembunyikan perasaannya? Kenapa lelaki itu selalu menarik dirinya ketika percik-percik kemesraan mulai bermunculan di antara mereka? Dan, yang tidak bisa diterimanya, kenapa lelaki itu memilih menikahi Catherine yang tidak dicintainya?

Untuk melupakan lelaki itu, Alissa memilih meneruskan kuliahnya di Singapura. Dan empat tahun kemudian, dia kembali dikejutkan oleh peristiwa yang sama sekali tak diduganya, peristiwa yang membuatnya membenci Danu…

Pura – Pura Pacaran

Sarah adalah seorang gadis pendiam dengan ayah yang kerap memukulinya jika sedang mabuk. Kesukaan Sarah hanyalah menggambar sketsa dimanapun ia berada. Airin teman sekelasnya sangat membencinya karena gara-gara Sarah ia cuma mendapat rangking dua di kelas. Suatu hari, Airin putus dengan pacarnya Raymond dan tiba-tiba saja Sarah terseret masuk ke dalam masalah mereka. Sebab Raymond tahu bahwa satu-satunya cara ia bisa mendapatkan Airin kembali adalah pura-pura pacaran dengan Sarah. Tapi Raymond pun terseret masuk ke dalam kehidupan Sarah yang malang, dan ia tak bisa berdiam diri menyaksikan Sarah hancur perlahan-lahan.

Piano di Kotak Kaca

Wajah Sheila berubah murung. “Bapak mau bilang karena saya anak pembunuh, kan? Saya punya sifat kejam dalam diri saya, makanya berkali-kali saya mendapat masalah”.

“Kamu memiliki banyak sifat istimewa. Kamu perhatian pada orang lain, kamu ingin sekali terlibat secara emosional dengan manusia lain. Singkatnya, kamu sensitive dan peduli terhadap orang lain. Tapi orang-orang dengan sifat seperti ini punya kelemahan”.

“Apa kelemahannya?”

“Jika orang lain kurang peduli terhadapnya, ia akan membenci orang itu”.


Sebuah miniatur piano menjadi kenangan terakhir Sheila akan ibunya. Ibunya meninggal karena dibunuh ayahnya sendiri dan sang ayah dipenjara. Tinggal Sheila sebatang kara, tanpa kasih sayang orang tua di usianya yang masih belia.

Uluran tangan dari saudara angkat ayahnya ternyata membawa kepahitan lain. Sheila dijadikan pembantu di tempat tinggalnya yang baru dan berulang kali dianiaya secara mental. Sikap keras gadis itu seringkali dikaitkan dengan latar belakangnya yang berayah pembunuh. Sheila merasa takut akan emosinya yang mudah sekali meledak sehingga menyerang orang-orang yang melukai harga dirinya.

Satu-satunya orang yang mengulurkan tangan tulus padanya hanyalah Bram, pria timpang yang memendam banyak kepahitan akibat kondisi fisiknya. Bisakah ikatan yang terjalin di antara mereka mengembalikan jiwa Sheila yang terluka dan merindukan ibunya?

Bidadari Bersayap Biru

Maya adalah gadis yang bisa mengalami penglihatan saat menyentuh tangan orang lain. Kelebihannya membuat ia lebih memahami kehidupan ini di usianya yang baru tujuh belas tahun.

Suatu hari, saat ia menghindari omelan ibu angkatnya, ia pergi ke rumah sebelah yang masih kosong. Di sana ia menemukan sebuah bros berbentuk bidadari bersayap biru milik seorang wanita yang sudah meninggal.

Maya ingin menggali kehidupan wanita itu lebih dalam karena ia curiga ada hubungan special antara wanita itu dan ayah angkatnya. Pertemuan Maya dengan maling yang masuk rumah kosong itu juga membuatnya memasuki babak baru dalam hidupnya.

A Few Quiet Days

The early morning gray mist diffused the predawn cool December light over the calm Mediterranean Sea. It was impossible to tell where the sea ended and the grey sky commenced. The water barely moved where it met the small
pebbles of the private beach. Vertical cliffs sealed each side of the beach from incursion. The shear cliff from the beach to the road insured that the small tunnel to the villa's garden was the only possible access. The first man leaned awkwardly against the cliff. His glassy dark brown eyes blankly stared at the featureless seascape. His mouth drooped open like someone who continually breathed through their mouth. He was not breathing. He had involuntarily given up the habit earlier that morning. The second man on the beach did not look at him, but stood at the water's edge gazing into the gray mist. His eyes almost as glazed as the dead man's. His head throbbed from the jet lag and the cascade of events
that had swept him across the Atlantic. John Lewis Strut thought how impulsive he had been in the past week. He had transplanted himself from a regulated Midwestern life to the south of France, where the only one he knew was his host. He could hardly remember any of his college French from years ago. Strut's mind drifted back over the years to his college days at Indiana University. Strut's reminiscence were partly to clear his mind of the past and partly an obsession with his despair. Strut had attended the Indiana University on a scholarship. He lived at subsistence level the first four years of his prelaw work. At the end of his Senior year he took a job as an automobile salesman to try to avoid working part time
during his graduate law terms. The news paper's advertisement for the job was intriguing. High income, and a personal car to drive. Some of his fellow students had paper routes or worked in a fast food restaurant to earn extra money. This seemed to be on a higher plan. A promise of high pay, and especially a car, was perhaps a little out of reason for a short term job. He had just received his bachelor's degree. He could pretend that he looked upon this as a potential career.

The agency's show room's gleaming new cars made a tempting contrast with his eight year old junker, which was proving less and less reliable. The salesmen moved in and out of their small cubical offices to deal with several waiting customers. A large glass enclosed office was perched above the cubical offices like an eagle's nest. Strut could see a man standing rigidly before the massive desk that dwarfed a some what miniature dark complected man
behind it.

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Kingfisher Blue

Chapter 1

She walked into Smokey's Bar like the breeze that sometimes caresses your face on a gray day. Her fair, nearly blonde hair was pulled back into a ponytail with two wisps hanging down by each eye. The bustle of the bar absorbed her into its midst and I lost track of her until she surfaced by the gamblers.

They were a group of men who visited lunchtimes who liked telling tales of their successes and forgetting their losses in the beer. Their appreciation of local female talent was shared and bonded with approving winks. She got the treatment in spades. Her denim jeans, slightly frayed at the ankle, rose forever to meet smoothly curved hips and her red tightly stretched cotton shirt hugged her body like they wanted to.

A wave of drinks orders distracted me and by the time I saw her again she was seated at a table by the window. The man she was with wasn't a regular and he was nothing special. Smokey's attracted every element of Central London's low and high life. But this suit looked like a no-lifer. He wore middle age with oozing confidence, bending his baldness towards her with a ravenous smile. She was his lunch for today. His opportunity for courtship was timed to the minute and his body language was in the fast lane. ...... more click here.

Illusion of Luck

Part 1

Greg Tenorly was the luckiest man in the world. The woman of his wildest dreams was standing beside him—at their wedding rehearsal. He knew he didn’t deserve her. Anybody could see that. He saw himself as a balding, average-looking 35-year-old. Cynthia was a strikingly beautiful 30-year-old redhead. He wouldn’t have been surprised if Cupid himself had flown in to break up the crazy mismatch. But Cynthia saw something in Greg she couldn’t resist. Something she should have looked for in the eyes of her first groom. Troy was a rugged, handsome man. Nothing wrong with that. But he was also an abuser. And all the love he’d ever given her meant nothing after that first brutal slap across the face. Then came the boozing and hitting and steady barrage of obscenities. So, this time around Cynthia was looking for something dif­ferent. Greg was kind and thoughtful and funny. And regardless of what Greg thought, she did find him attractive—even on their first meeting. And the more she got to know him, the more attractive he became. She wasn’t marrying him just because he was a nice guy. She truly had the hots for him. It was Thursday night, 6:20 PM. Greg and Cynthia were finishing up a run-through of the ceremony at First Baptist Church, Coreyville, where Greg was part-time music director. They were well on their way to happily ever after. Everything was perfect. Until the phone call. Cynthia’s mother, Beverly, was serving as her Maid of Honor. She had girlfriends her age at First State Bank where she was a vice president. But her mom was her closest friend. It might have seemed a little odd to some people—no mother sitting on the second pew, crying. ...next story click here

Monster Island

Chapter One

Osman leaned over the rail and spat into the grey sea before turning again to shout orders at his first mate Yusuf. The GPS had died two months out to sea and in the fog we would be lucky not to crash into the side of Manhattan at full speed. With no harbor lights to follow and nothing at all on the radio he could only rely on dead reckoning and intuition. He shot me an anxious look. “Naga amus, Dekalb,” he said, shut up, though I hadn’t said a word.

He ran from one side of the deck to the other, pushing girls out of his way. I could barely see him through the mist when he reached the starboard rail, ropy coils of vapor wrapping around his feet, splattering the wood and glass of the foredeck with tiny beads of dew. The girls chattered and shrieked like they always did but in the claustrophobic fog they sounded like carrion birds squabbling over some prize giblets.

Yusuf shouted something from the wheelhouse, something Osman clearly didn’t want to hear. “Hooyaa da was!” the captain screamed back. Then, in English, “quarter steam! Bring her down to quarter steam!” He must have sensed something out in the murk.

For whatever reason I turned then to look ahead and to port. The only thing over that way was a trio of the girls. In their uniforms they looked like a girl band gone horribly wrong. Grey headscarves, navy school blazers, plaid miniskirts, combat boots. AK-47s slung over their shoulders. Sixteen years old and armed to the teeth, the Glorious Girl Army of the Women’s Republic of Somaliland. One of the girls raised her arm, pointed at something. She looked back at me as if for validation but I couldn’t see anything out there. Then I did and I nodded agreeably. A hand rising from high above the sea. A bloated, enormous green hand holding a giant torch, the gold at the top dull in the fog.

“This is New York, yes, Mr. Dekalb? That is the famous Statue of Liberty.” Ayaan didn’t look me in the eye but she wasn’t looking at the statue, either. She had the most English of any of the girls so she’d acted as my interpreter on the voyage but we weren’t exactly what you’d call close. Ayaan wasn’t close with anybody, unless you counted Mama Halima, the Warlady and President-for-Life of the WRS. She was supposed to be a crack shot with an AK and a ruthless killer. She still couldn’t help but remind me of my daughter Sarah and the maniacs I’d left her with back in Mogadishu. At least Sarah would only have to worry about human dangers. I had a personal guarantee from Mama Halima that she would be protected from the supernatural. Ayaan ignored my stare. “They showed us the picture of the statue, in the madrassa. They made us spit on the picture.”

I ignored her as best I could and watched as the statue materialized out of the fog. Lady Liberty looked alright, about like how I’d left her five years before. Long before the Epidemic began. I guess I’d been expecting to see something, some sign of damage or decay but she had already rusted green before I was born. In the distance through the mist I could make out the pediment, the star-shaped base of the statue. It seemed impossibly real, hallucinatorily perfect and unblemished. In Africa I’d seen so much horror I think I’d forgotten what the West could be like with its sheen of normalcy and health.

“Fiir!” one of the girls at the rail shouted. Ayaan and I pushed forward and stared into the mist. We could make out most of Liberty Island now and the shadow of Ellis Island beyond. The girls were pointing with agitation at the walkway that ringed Liberty, at the people there. American clothes, American hair exposed to the elements. Tourists, perhaps. Perhaps not.

“Osman,” I shouted, “Osman, we’re getting too close,” but the Captain just yelled for me to shut up again. On the walkway I saw hundreds of them, hundreds of people. They waved at us, their arms moving stiffly like something from a silent movie. They pushed toward the railing, pushed to get closer to us. As the trawler rolled closer I could see them crawling over one
another in their desperation to touch us, to swarm onboard.

I thought maybe, just maybe they were alright, maybe they’d run to Liberty Island for refuge and been safe there and were just waiting for us, waiting for rescue but then I smelled them and I knew. I knew they weren’t alright at all. Give me your tired, your poor, your wretched refuse, my brain repeated over and over, a mantra. I was butchering Emma Lazarus but I couldn’t stop, my brain wouldn’t stop. Give me your huddled masses. Huddled masses yearning to breathe. “Osman! Turn away!”

One of them toppled over the side of the railing, maybe pushed by the straining crowd behind. A woman in a bright red windbreaker, her hair a matted lump on one side of her head. She tried desperately to dog-paddle toward the trawler but she was hindered by the fact that she kept reaching up, reaching up one bluish hand to try to grab at us. She wanted us so badly.
Wanted to reach us, to touch us.

Give me your tired, your so very, very tired. I couldn’t take this, didn’t know what I had thought I could accomplish coming here. I couldn’t look at another one. Another dead person clawing for my face.

One of the girls opened up with her rifle, a controlled burst, three shots. Chut chut chut chopping up the grey water. Chut chut chut and the bullets tore through the red windbreaker, tore open the woman’s neck. Chut chut chut and her head popped open like an overripe melon and she sank, slipping beneath the water without a sound and still, pressed up against the railing on Liberty Island, a hundred more reached for us. Reached with pleading skeletal hands to clutch at us, to take what was theirs.

Your huddled masses. Give me your dead, I thought. The ship heeled hard over to one side as Osman finally brought her around, nosed around the edge of Liberty Island and kept us from running up on the rocks. Give me your wretched dead, yearning to devour, your shambling masses. Give me. That was what they were thinking, wasn’t it? The living dead over there on the island. If there was any spark left in their brains, any thought possible to decayed neurons it was this: give me. Give me. Give me your life, your warmth, your flesh. Give me.

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Death is a Debt

In the harsh world of Regency London, Major Villers Croft promises to protect a mysterious lady from danger and then carelessly betrays her. Later she is found dead. Was it an accident, or murder? Who was she? What danger was she in? And from whom? Croft's guilt and sense of honour compels him to discover who she was and how and why she died. From the the slums of Seven Dials to the English countryside; from the polite drawing-rooms of Regency society to the rough excitement of a high-stakes curricle race, his search takes him deeper into a world of treachery and evil where the end may be his redemption ...or his death.

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Love Beyond Time

Chapter 1

The Tracers were just coming through the door when Meghan stepped into the time window and into the year 2000. Her heart beating fast she ran through the maze of graves that held the bodies of the citizens of New Orleans. A light flashed and she looked over her shoulder. A couple of Tracers had just stepped out of the time window. She tripped on a stone and fell, scraping her hands and knees. Pushing herself up she ran behind a mausoleum and leaned against its walls.

Breathing hard, she pushed a button on her wristband and a shield of the same configuration as the mausoleum appeared. She held her breath as the first Tracer walked passed her. He didn’t notice that the mausoleum was longer than the others in the cemetery. Meghan slowly let out her breath as she waited for the other Tracer to pass. As he went by her she saw the dart gun in his hand. Putting a hand to her mouth to stifle her gasp she watched until the two Tracers were out of sight.

She waited another few minutes before pressing the button on her wristband and removing the shield. Meghan sidle her way to one side of the mausoleum and peeked around the corner. The Tracers weren’t there. She sighed in relief and looked at her hands. They were already healing. She brushed off the tiny stones from her hands and knees and keeping her eyes and senses alert she started walking following the faint music coming from the Quarter.

~*~*~

Logan was tired and frustrated, everything seemed to be going wrong and he couldn’t do a thing to stop it happening. Flames seemed to dance around his eyes and lick through his head, and the intensity of the pain distracted him from his job.

He weaved his way through the crowds, pushed his way in between a very large man in very tight jeans and an even larger woman in a shimmering gold dress. The air about him was alive, jumping to the sounds of party crackers and various musical tunes. But it was also permeated with danger, almost bubbling to boiling point. It was his job to hunt it out and destroy it at all costs.

If he had to, he knew that he would risk his life if it meant easing some kind of peace into the atmosphere. He knew he would give anything for peace. There was no sense of peace in the air that night, no matter how hard he tried, and he could not shake the tension building in his shoulders despite the party atmosphere around him.

He had received a call from an anonymous source claiming the murder of a friend. The source had revealed that the murderer had hunted them down before attacking, and while he had escaped the other had not been so lucky. Logan worked on gut instinct and his gut instinct told him to listen. And so here he was walking the streets of New Orleans in the hope of catching this villain before things moved too far.

On a hunch he turned off the main street and found himself walking down a small alleyway, the noise drifted slightly, although it was just as lively, but the heat vanished completely and things became cold. He stuffed his hands into the pockets of his long black coat as he slowly moved forward.

He heard a noise and knew it was a bad idea, but he continued on anyway, moving further and further from the crowds and deeper into the dark. A figure stepped out behind him, and he sensed it as he whirled around, his coat tales flying about him as he adopted a defensive stance. The stranger’s face was hidden in shadow, but Logan was sensitive enough to recognize power and danger when he was faced with it. This man was somebody and he was about to attack.

"No weapons." the stranger said, disregarding his gun. Logan did the same, safe in the knowledge that he kept a knife tucked into a small scabbard around his ankle. They flew into action, arms striking out at each other, the assailant kicked out and Logan fell backwards, seconds later he was back on his feet and charging forward. He dodged from side to side as punches were thrown, letting the attacker strike before returning the blow.

The pair were backed up against the wall, Logan had the advantage, with his forearm pressed against the man’s throat and then he felt the blade slip between his ribcage. The fire in his head exploded and he stumbled backwards. He pressed his hand against the wounds and encountered the sticky substance, he’d been in this situation too many times and yet this was different. This time he knew it was fatal. He looked up at this man who had stabbed him and recognized the evil in his eyes. He was lost as firecrackers sounded around him.

Logan didn’t know how long he’d been unconscious but when he opened his eyes an angel floated above him. He tried to smile but because of the pain all he could manage to do was grimace. He tried to speak but the angel put a finger on his mouth and shook her head.

Meghan knelt beside the big man and tore a piece of cloth from the hem of her long shirt. She pressed it against the man’s wound to staunch the blood. When she’d run into the alley and stumbled over him, at first she thought he was a drunk but then she noticed the sweat on his face and he was shivering. Sensing there wasn’t much time left for the big man, she leaned down and spoke. “Can you move? We must get you to a hospital!”

Logan shook his head, “No. No hospital. Take me home,” he said weakly. Meghan looked into the man’s deep blue eyes for a moment then nodded at his request. She riffled his pockets and took out his wallet. She looked at the man’s driver’s license. His name was Logan Dupré. He was 6’’2, blue eyes and black hair. He lived not far from here, but she new she couldn’t drag him.

Stepping out of the alley, Meghan looked up and down street to make sure there were no Tracers that could impede her saving this man. They weren’t there. “GOOD,” she thought. She looked across the street and spotted a taxi. She put her fingers to her mouth and whistled loud to be heard above the lively music coming from the bar across from the alley.

The taxi driver lifted his head and saw Meghan standing there. She bade him to come and went back to the man. Meghan wrapped the man’s long coat around him to hide the wound then moved and squatted near his head. The angel but her hands under his armpits and started dragging him. The pain grew worst and Logan lost consciousness again.

The man who lay in the bed before her was dying. It was very clear that he had lost far too much blood and was growing weaker with each breath that he took. This was the man that she had come for, and now that she had the dart she could go no further without him. There was only one thing that she could do, and while it was unthinkable she knew it had to be done. She needed him.

She reached into the pocket concealed in the sleeve of her T-shirt and withdrew a tiny-sheathed dagger. Slowly she removed the protective cover, revealing the translucent weapon. The light caught inside it as she brought it to her palm and swiftly sliced through the skin, it was so smooth that she barely felt the pain. She then repeated the action on his palm. He flinched in his unconscious state but his eyes didn’t open, not even for the slightest moment. Before she had time to think about her actions she brought their palms together, squeezing as tight as she could until she had no more strength and her arm weakened, letting go of his hand.

She had successfully transfused her blood into his, returning his life to him. This man was the only person who could save her people and she couldn’t give that up even if it meant breaking the rule her people had lived by for centuries. A rule that stated clearly that an immortal could not give life to a mortal through the merging of blood. The fact that she broke it now merely proved the dire state her people found themselves in.

Meghan sat for an age at his side, the wound on her hand had long since healed and disappeared, and she was merely waiting for the completion of his regeneration. As she sat she studied him and the environment that he chose to live in. She brushed a hand through his hair pushing it away form his face, he had wonderful hair and for a second she allowed herself to think of nothing but him.

His skin was soft and smooth and she couldn’t help but trail the back of her fingers over his cheek until she felt the stubble that had been allowed to grow along his jaw. This man was something else, he was from a time different from hers and he exceeded all of her expectations.

He had risked his life because he believed so strongly in something that he would listen to a stranger to get it. While he knew nothing of her time or her cause he had already risked his life for them, for it was a Time Healer that had been murdered and a Tracer that had hunted him down. She had given her blood to him because this man was too strong for her to let die. She played a strand of his hair between her fingertips, amazed by its luxuriously dark length, when his eyes opened. She saw the confusion and the recognition in his eyes when his fractured whisper came, "Angel?"

“Angel?” he whispered. His voice was so weak as was his body but he felt so relaxed. Waves of pleasure were shooting through his body. He felt the gentle touch of a caress through his hair.

Where was he, who was this beautiful woman, looking down at him with passion in her eyes? He reached his hand up behind her neck and brought her lips to his. He kissed her softly, tasting her warmth. She resisted at first then matched the rhythm to his. Her lips were like pure silk; her breath was warm and enticing. Hmmm I surely must be in heaven, with this Angel. He fell gently back on the pillow and dreamt of sweet kisses and glorious green eyes.

Meghan O’Leary was stunned. She’d never before felt such emotion with just one kiss. She watched as he slept and thought how wonderful it would be to be kissed again. Her body was alive with emotions she never knew she had. Time passed slowly as she waited for him to awaken. The day flashed before her and wondered what she would do next. Where did the Tracers go? Will they know we are here and come for us? But more than anything she thought of this man and the desire to kiss him again.

The sounds of the outside world were filtering through the room. New Orleans is considered the town that never sleeps. Logan woke refreshed, feeling much alive. The room was bright with the morning sun as he swung his feet to the floor. He froze and noticed the woman asleep in the chair next to his bed. Thoughts raced through his head. He was running like a wolf through dark alleys feeling hot and cold, feeling a searing pain go through his body, a kiss so gentle and green pools of passion.

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Delver Magic Book II: Throne of Vengeance

The Sphere of Ingar has been destroyed and pure magic now flows freely throughout the land of Uton. Magic casters arise as do the dark creatures that need magic to exist in this land. As the land changes and its inhabitants adapt, a growing wind of rebellion leads to potential disaster for all the races. The dwarf queen, Yave, declares war on the algors, blaming the desert dwellers for the tragedy which took the life of her eldest son. She leads a revolution against what remains of her own family. Dwarf separatists eager to assert their own superiority follow blindly as she begins her quest for revenge. Ryson Acumen, the pure bred delver who saved the land from Ingar's sphere, attempts to intervene. In response, human towns are attacked by the dwarf army of Dunop. Raids against the elves lead to escalated tensions. Even as the algors plan a response to protect their very existence, the elves threaten to unleash their own weapon of sheer terror against the dwarf city. The overriding need that brought the races together to defeat Ingar is gone as the land of Uton fractures into chaos.

Delver Magic - Book I: Sanctum's Breach

A rolling tremor passes through the land of Uton signaling a return of long absent magic as well as an ancient evil that accompanies it. Ryson Acumen, purebred delver, senses the changes throughout the land. In his investigations, he learns that legends he considered fables hold more truth than fantasy. The delver encounters elves and learns the Sphere of Ingar, a talisman that captured all magical energies long ago, is free from its tomb in Sanctum Mountain. As violent, evil creatures return to shred the very fabric of reality, the sphere gains awareness and chooses to spew corrupted magical energies to obliterate all life.

The sphere must be destroyed, but it rests within Sanctum, a hollow mountain with a single path to its center. The way to the sphere remains defended by devices created long ago, forged by members of each race to thwart entry to the mountain's core. Those that wish to defeat the sphere must not only overcome these barriers, they must conquer the mistrust which has flourished during the long period of separation. Human, elf, dwarf, algor and delver must reunite to defeat the obstacles that now protect the sphere. Magic, though corrupt, is harnessed to fight off strange beasts of evil that once again walk this land. Once inside Sanctum, representatives of each race face the secrets of the ages that once undone will change their lives forever.