About the Author
The nice thing about self-publishing is that all the rules go out the window. The usual bio goes like this - born such and such a place, worked at this and that, now lives wherever under whatever circumstances - and really isn't very interesting; just a few dry facts that tell nothing worth knowing and so are as quickly forgotten as read, so let's try something different.

One road runs through the village, buildings are well spaced and very few of them are terraced. There is a strip of wasteland smothered in bushes and small trees, and behind it a playing field (goal posts and such) and beyond that fields. Then a town hall raised above the road to the right, the wall is about shoulder high and then grass grows. There is a road out of the village to the left. Round a curve where another road leaves the village, and down hill; there is a spooky church on the left. I went to sunday-school there, once or twice. Further down on the right there is a school, which I attended more frequently. We built dams in the brook, built mud forts and threw dried mud at each-other when the fields had been ploughed. I learned to ride a bike here and managed to get hit by a car. It's no big deal but that is only because I am lucky. When I am five my parents divorce and my family moves to another village. There was a girl who asked me to stay. I can only assume she didn't fully understand the situation.

Down a hill, a main route east to west, another church, left into the village proper, two more roads lead out of the village, on one is a school, on another a playing field, the whole surrounded by farmland. The village is big enough to develop two distinct societies of children. I drift between camps depending on my mood. I still ride recklessly but my luck holds - having been narrowly missed by one car the driver changes his route home and kills a girl in another village. One man shoots another after drunken night out. A friend moves away and dies shortly thereafter. I rarely go to school, the pace and quality of teaching is too slow and too low to hold my attention. I read a great deal. When it is time to leave school I decide I will write. The first book sent is rejected with the words "Interesting as this looks blah blah blah" and a pattern is set. It's a long time before I sell anything. There was never any chance that I would give up. That was never going to happen.

I move from town to town, looking for something. I drink too much. Jobs come and go and so do flats and such. Living in towns and cities is much better than living in a village. I find that my peer group is "smart under-achievers." I marry a girl who also drinks too much. We move from town to town. Jobs come a go and so do flats and such. It's a blast. A couple of years in the same job leave me thinking I have achieved stability; I drink less because the job demands it. The relationship can't survive one of us being sober, though it has survived everything else. When she is gone I clean the flat to get rid of the scent of her and find torn up bills everywhere. It's a while before I clear the the debts.

I marry again. A woman who is smarter than I am. After a couple of years we decide that holidays out of the country aren't enough time away from the place. We live out of the country for a good few years. A lot of stuff happens; most of it good.

After the relationship comes to a natural end I head to the UK where I am offered work all over the world with breaks in-between times. Perfect.

It doesn't happen. And here I am.

There are not many things that I am sure of, but here are a couple:

Free-will is an illusion (take a look at the evolution of the brain and you will see what I mean) but as “the illusion of light is light (Ged said this, I think)” so the illusion of free-will is free-will. Just a thought, but if you feel trapped by your context it is one worth thinking.

Reality is much more malleable than you probably think it is but there is no way I can prove it to your satisfaction if you don’t think it is as fluid as I do.

The one lesson of history is that we never learn. I don’t remember where I heard this first but it is depressingly true. The evidence is everywhere so I don’t have to prove it.

Now, time for a drink.

Where can you find me?





Endgame-Aftermath is a post-apocalyptic fantasy role-playing game. That is to say, 1) It is a role playing game, 2) It is a fantasy game, and 3) It is a game set in the aftermath of a cataclysmic event. Endgame-Aftermath uses a innovative method of Character Generation that happens during play rather than before the game starts.

THE KEY TO THE GRAVE by Chris Northern

My name is Sumto. I have met the enemies of the city and prevailed, admittedly as much by luck as judgement. I could not have garnered the little success I can boast had I been alone: there is Sapphire, an assassin in the employ of my father; Meran, my former slave; and there is Jocasta, a sorceress of unexpected skill and strength. They all seem to care about me more than I probably deserve.

THE LAST KING'S AMULET by Chris Northern

My name is Sumto; I drink, gamble, and idle my life away despite my very limited income. Going to war is the very last thing I want to do (have you seen how sharp those swords are?) but the only other option is even worse; or so I think until it becomes clear to me that there is more involved in this war than I could have ever suspected. And there is no backing out now.

PRISON OF POWER by Chris Northern

When the High King was slain his bloodline numbered in the hundreds. Ninety years later, there remains only one. One last chance for a restoration, a restoration that many fear and few desire. Unknown to himself, the last heir is caught in a Prison of Power that he quite simply cannot escape.