Outcasts
of the Worlds
of the Worlds
Outcasts
of the Worlds Book 1
of the Worlds Book 1
by
Lucas Paynter
Lucas Paynter
Genre:
Cosmic Fantasy
Cosmic Fantasy
456
pages
pages
A
confidence man. A liar. A monster. Flynn has seen himself for what he
really is and has resolved to pay for everything. Even if it means
spending the rest of his days locked in Civilis, a tower prison for
society's unwanted - "half-humans" gifted by the fallout of
nuclear holocaust centuries past.
confidence man. A liar. A monster. Flynn has seen himself for what he
really is and has resolved to pay for everything. Even if it means
spending the rest of his days locked in Civilis, a tower prison for
society's unwanted - "half-humans" gifted by the fallout of
nuclear holocaust centuries past.
Jean,
a prisoner in the neighboring cell, has different ideas and despite
himself, Flynn finds himself joining her daring escape. After
rescuing her friend Mack, the three flee Civilis as Flynn pieces
together the hours before his capture and finds himself drawn to an
abandoned facility where a rift to another world opens at his
nearing.
a prisoner in the neighboring cell, has different ideas and despite
himself, Flynn finds himself joining her daring escape. After
rescuing her friend Mack, the three flee Civilis as Flynn pieces
together the hours before his capture and finds himself drawn to an
abandoned facility where a rift to another world opens at his
nearing.
Together
they will venture farther beyond the stars than humanity ever
imagined, find others like them that will never belong, and tangle
with forces both ancient and immortal. They stand alone, hated and
scorned - and the last hope of making things right in a cosmos gone
terribly wrong.
they will venture farther beyond the stars than humanity ever
imagined, find others like them that will never belong, and tangle
with forces both ancient and immortal. They stand alone, hated and
scorned - and the last hope of making things right in a cosmos gone
terribly wrong.
Excerpt 2
From Chapter 2 – Cogs in the Machine
For a few minutes, Zaja just watched as the clatter of wood against wood became so loud that—had she not known better—she’d have expected a swarm of insects was coming through. Poe spun again and again, striking at each static foe with equal aggression. He only knew how to fight alone, and accounted for no allies at his back.
As his aggression for battle died, he hunched, breathing heavily, his white hair frazzled. His back was turned to Zaja.
“Hot enough for ya?” she asked, teasingly.
Wiping the sweat from his brow, Poe glanced back at her with his deep purple eyes. “You’ve returned. I don’t imagine you as the bearer of good news.”
“It was a bust.” Zaja tossed Poe what remained of her water. “Desert—which was actually the best part! Except there was this thing with Renivar’s soldiers. Miles of them, all crossing right in front of us.”
“I find I regret not going,” he replied after draining the bottle. “I’d have thinned their ranks, given the chance. Though I remain mortal, I can do that much even now.”
Zaja noted the numerous pock-marks on the columns, and was about to comment, “You’re certainly showing those pillars who’s boss,” but the jibe died in her throat. Instead, she felt compelled to point out, “They’re not bad people, you know.”
“They were my torturers,” Poe replied darkly. “They saw me bound and humiliated. They made a mockery of me in my weakened state, and did so all on the orders of their god.”
Maybe they had a good reason, she vaguely considered.
He closed his eyes, shaking his head and wondering, “What commands could I give, were I in such a position …?”
“Out of any among us, you might get to find out.”
Poe met her intrigue with cynicism. “Most days, I doubt even that.”
Like Poe, what Zaja knew and what she felt were two very different things. Airia Rousow, the fallen Goddess of Eternity, had tapped Poe as her successor, that he might use his skill and her power to murder Taryl Renivar, a counterpart of her order. That Poe was poised to inherit such power remained difficult to grasp, and she surmised he felt little different when he softly spoke on. “More often, I feel I should have stayed where you found me, the butcher at Heaven’s gates.”
“It would have been a lie,” she told him.
“I know. Yet in my ignorance, at least, I felt no hole in my heart for what I’d let myself become.”
Zaja nodded, sorry to understand.
“I wish I could have stayed with Renivar’s people,” she replied softly. “Before I knew what they were doing to you, or how far their god is willing to go to give them the perfect world he’s promised.” Zaja wrapped her arms low, around her belly. “Back when I thought he was just going to make a better world where everything that had gone wrong could finally be made right.” She scoffed derisively. “A better world … but not one that would allow for people like us.”
Poe spared her a fleeting smile as he took up his black coat, wearing it loose while he refastened his blades over it, lest the straps chafe.
“The tragedy is not that we’re unhappy for letting aside our ignorance,” he stated. “It’s that we could not remain content with our lot, knowing more fully what we had.”
From Chapter 2 – Cogs in the Machine
For a few minutes, Zaja just watched as the clatter of wood against wood became so loud that—had she not known better—she’d have expected a swarm of insects was coming through. Poe spun again and again, striking at each static foe with equal aggression. He only knew how to fight alone, and accounted for no allies at his back.
As his aggression for battle died, he hunched, breathing heavily, his white hair frazzled. His back was turned to Zaja.
“Hot enough for ya?” she asked, teasingly.
Wiping the sweat from his brow, Poe glanced back at her with his deep purple eyes. “You’ve returned. I don’t imagine you as the bearer of good news.”
“It was a bust.” Zaja tossed Poe what remained of her water. “Desert—which was actually the best part! Except there was this thing with Renivar’s soldiers. Miles of them, all crossing right in front of us.”
“I find I regret not going,” he replied after draining the bottle. “I’d have thinned their ranks, given the chance. Though I remain mortal, I can do that much even now.”
Zaja noted the numerous pock-marks on the columns, and was about to comment, “You’re certainly showing those pillars who’s boss,” but the jibe died in her throat. Instead, she felt compelled to point out, “They’re not bad people, you know.”
“They were my torturers,” Poe replied darkly. “They saw me bound and humiliated. They made a mockery of me in my weakened state, and did so all on the orders of their god.”
Maybe they had a good reason, she vaguely considered.
He closed his eyes, shaking his head and wondering, “What commands could I give, were I in such a position …?”
“Out of any among us, you might get to find out.”
Poe met her intrigue with cynicism. “Most days, I doubt even that.”
Like Poe, what Zaja knew and what she felt were two very different things. Airia Rousow, the fallen Goddess of Eternity, had tapped Poe as her successor, that he might use his skill and her power to murder Taryl Renivar, a counterpart of her order. That Poe was poised to inherit such power remained difficult to grasp, and she surmised he felt little different when he softly spoke on. “More often, I feel I should have stayed where you found me, the butcher at Heaven’s gates.”
“It would have been a lie,” she told him.
“I know. Yet in my ignorance, at least, I felt no hole in my heart for what I’d let myself become.”
Zaja nodded, sorry to understand.
“I wish I could have stayed with Renivar’s people,” she replied softly. “Before I knew what they were doing to you, or how far their god is willing to go to give them the perfect world he’s promised.” Zaja wrapped her arms low, around her belly. “Back when I thought he was just going to make a better world where everything that had gone wrong could finally be made right.” She scoffed derisively. “A better world … but not one that would allow for people like us.”
Poe spared her a fleeting smile as he took up his black coat, wearing it loose while he refastened his blades over it, lest the straps chafe.
“The tragedy is not that we’re unhappy for letting aside our ignorance,” he stated. “It’s that we could not remain content with our lot, knowing more fully what we had.”
Killers,
Traitors & Runaways
Traitors & Runaways
Outcasts
of the Worlds Book 2
of the Worlds Book 2
364
pages
pages
As
reality nears its final days, worlds fall to ruin. A benevolent god
is shackled, and when freed, will create a new one ... allowing only
the pure of heart. A company of seven have united on a bloody quest
to stop him, but have little hope of emerging victorious.
reality nears its final days, worlds fall to ruin. A benevolent god
is shackled, and when freed, will create a new one ... allowing only
the pure of heart. A company of seven have united on a bloody quest
to stop him, but have little hope of emerging victorious.
The
outcasts are adrift--they have a mission but no means to fulfill it.
Airia Rousow, the fallen goddess who set them on their path, is gone.
Guardian Poe, her intended successor, believes deification will
absolve him of his sins and his remorse alike. And Zella Renivar,
daughter of the Living God, is still hunted by her father's agents,
drawing danger on them all.
outcasts are adrift--they have a mission but no means to fulfill it.
Airia Rousow, the fallen goddess who set them on their path, is gone.
Guardian Poe, her intended successor, believes deification will
absolve him of his sins and his remorse alike. And Zella Renivar,
daughter of the Living God, is still hunted by her father's agents,
drawing danger on them all.
Trapped
in this storm, Flynn is able to find and open the ways between
worlds, but cannot discern which path is the right one. Since losing
the trust of his closest friend, the temptation to fall back on his
former, deceitful ways with grows with every crisis he faces.
in this storm, Flynn is able to find and open the ways between
worlds, but cannot discern which path is the right one. Since losing
the trust of his closest friend, the temptation to fall back on his
former, deceitful ways with grows with every crisis he faces.
Lucas
Aubrey Paynter hails from the mythical land of Burbank, California,
where there are most likely no other writers at all.
Aubrey Paynter hails from the mythical land of Burbank, California,
where there are most likely no other writers at all.
Back
in 2014, he published Outcasts
of the Worlds,
and he’s now releasing its follow-up, Killers,
Traitors, & Runaways.
in 2014, he published Outcasts
of the Worlds,
and he’s now releasing its follow-up, Killers,
Traitors, & Runaways.
A
fan of gray-area storytelling and often a devil’s advocate, Lucas
enjoys consuming stories from a variety of mediums, believing there’s
no limit to what form a good narrative can take.
fan of gray-area storytelling and often a devil’s advocate, Lucas
enjoys consuming stories from a variety of mediums, believing there’s
no limit to what form a good narrative can take.
Guest Post:
Writing action sequences—be they actual fights, or just dynamic events—always pose a sort of interesting challenge. I actually feel that the written word is in many ways a terrible medium for it, as the absence of a visual component depends deeply on not just creating a flow of events the reader can follow, but avoiding creating something that’s so technically accurate it just becomes dry.
I say this precisely because I tend to think visually and like actions that are purposeful and precise. A simple one on one fight might have a fair number of punches, blocks, deflections and strikes being exchanged, but just writing “John delivered a right hook. Then a left jab, and then he jabbed again” can quickly fall into the area of tedium. A sustained fight can be exciting and even tense to watch; it can also easily be made boring.
Rather than relying on the action itself to carry the scene, then, I rely on the characters. The pain they’re feeling when they get injured, the confidence or nervousness they might be experiencing, the conditions surrounding them and how they’re affecting them … I tend to space out the actual action, most of the times, because while I love it, I find it dry.
Two of my favorite cases in my recent book, Killers, Traitors, & Runaways, involve protagonists Flynn and Shea, in different parts of a ship being rocked in a storm.
In Flynn’s case, he ends up clashing with an expert swordswoman, and it’s a fight in which he is badly outmatched. He can barely holding her at bay, and even when the ship rocks them both, she’s the first to recover, denying him even an opening of circumstance over skill.
For Shea, she’s being made to engage against a pair of fellow soldiers. Already she’s nervous about the engagement as she’s hardly a capable fighter herself, but as she draws her flintlock and fire a shot that would have ended one of them, the boat rocks and she misses, further wringing her nerves and making the brief exchange that follows frantic and sloppy.
In both cases the characters in question are out of their element and outmatched; this isn’t the sort of situation I would rely on exclusively, but creating even the smallest doubt that someone might not survive the peril they’re in (if only for a moment) is often a useful tool. If they hold the advantage in whatever conflict they’re in, I’ll simply find a different emotion to explore—one that pertains to something they went through or are currently experiencing, or something more urgent, like another person in peril and the clash they’re engaged in being not a fight for their own life, but a hurdle to save someone else’s.
I think it’s a bit more engaging at least than just a one-two punch.
Follow
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for exclusive excerpts, guest posts and a giveaway!
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