Novels by Ryker Black

Winds of the cultivating Sky World spread like a rabid fire unchained by men or monsters, but these winds provide the sale of Salavanta’s ship. The stormbellow of the cloaked ship roars with the coming rain. Sounds of both elements mix and mash together like harmony gushing over a waterfall. The Translucent Sun is a one-of-a-kind ship made to cloak and under this ability birth from the arcane and technology, the ship moves faster by keeping the stormbellow at just enough power to float and turning the jets off. With the wind and rain picking up in the air, it is easy for the ship to travel faster within Sky World, but even more impressive is how silent the vessel is without the use of extra power propulsion and bare minimum gravitational support. A lot of the time the Sun moves over multiple ships without being detected this also made it hard for pending loyalists to find and capture the pirates that are on board. For there are a finite of people on the Translucent Sun. First, Salavan

The dreadknot crash site is like the mix of nature coiling around the broken metals and glass shards that made up the massive ship. Even though the giant ship is still in one piece and broken down, there are points of the vessel that are ripped off that make the crash sites foundation. Teal grass and vines circle around each piece of metal, trying to drag down the material that is separated from the ship within the core of the island, however the foreign material keeps the minerals a float and instead of sinking down like everything else, the land is corotating with the dreadknot itself as well as the debris that is spread out. On top of the huge worn and torn ship is a group of orcish people. There is a fire that is burning in the middle of the controlled deck of the dreadknot. A smoky trail looms over the sky of the wildlands, as this is a new fire and the smoke is still clear, the air has yet to corrupt the living blaze with is plague. Around the fire is an orc woman that has worn

The winds of the Circle are more like shifting sands of time. With each bellow of the breeze reaping along flesh and bone tears asunder of coldness but yet stability. Among the city of the devoted magical users, there is this freezing sensation of wind and water. It’s a morning unlike anything and everything all at once. This is the true home of vision of those that follow the path of an arcane user. The correlation between frost and morality is just. The workshop of the circle provides a clearer and consist learning experience. They tend to use the magic bestowed upon them in correlation with plantations, often growing food and tending to live cattle. On the opposite end of the workshop, the magically usages go to experimentations and invitations. The smell of oil often carries within the frosty winds of the Circle and laps to the other tower in which the workshop is connected via bridge. Harsh and strict, these were the words that describe the world of the Barracks. Mo

There is heat within the room of Leon’s domain. One that forces his body heat to quiver with sheer and utter delight. So much so that shivers not of coldness or brittleness but of soaring power spark down his spine. That is the sensation of how he feels once inside his favorite masonry. A right hand brings down to the lower back of Robin’s back. The submissive man’s back is covered in claw marks which turns that pale, toned flesh of his to a peachy red color. Even so, that did not stop his nails from digging into the man’s skin while his boney hips bash into Robin’s backside making his bubbly rear jiggle in a rhythmic motion. Both of them share a lustful and peering moan that travels throughout the empty space of the room. Leon’s right-hand grips the sheets of the cot that both men are on. Between his fingers he clings to the black blanket, pulling upon it which forces his body to impale Robin’s even harder than once before. Flesh mesh together as if they are one person molding with t

The drifting wind among sails lashes with the sheer force of nature. The leather sails ripple with and dance with the oncoming draft and fill the ears of all who may be listening upon the floating ship. One that belongs to the King herself; Salavanta. The proud-standing redhead wears her signature trench coat and underneath that vile worn and torn coat is a white cloth long sleeve cotton shirt and high capris that match the same brown as most of her clothes. Both of her pistoles are strapped on each side of her outer thighs at about knee level. On the right side of her hip is a sheathed ripper that is abnormally long and just above that is a short sword defender that is sheathed on her right side just above the first weapon. Her arms fold just under her bust and with those green orbs of hers she looks out onto her ship from the head deck. She sees men working on the boat, a small crew of people but ones that are devoted to the crew for the past five years. There are a few men who swee

In the trenches of the wildlands rest the young and old dark elves that stave the darkness at bay. Creatures of all sorts have been more active ever since the war ushered by King Malakai. It is as if the forest itself wages the war against the dark elves. The giant tranches separate the land between the dark elves both Lorn and Jakalorn from the plague that runs ramped throughout the forest. The trench system stretches for what seems like endlessly and is crafted in a zig-zag formation so that the enemy cannot attack one end since there could be many ends at play. The maze-like fortification is about two miles in depth to accommodate the size of the soldiers. Inside the walls are multiple hovels that are built to house the soldiers so they may have a place to eat, sleep, and live in. These indents within the walls are labeled by squad names. There are many types of teams in the Line, but only a few are special forces. A group of dark elves that operate behind enemy lines, in this case,