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This is
the prayer
I wrote many years ago as shared
with loved ones.
It is also included in my current work, The BATTLE LORD, book one of the Birth of the Legen series. Now, I share with you, may you hold it as dearly as it be meant. --Magically, Merlina DRAGON &
FAIRY PRAYER ©
May myne
Dragon weave
thee a myst to warm, comfort, |


Born into fantasy - tasting
reality
Artist, poet, author,
retired
from modeling.
Living in the city of night
lights,
Dreaming in the world of
candlelights.
May my crafts bring your
eye to my world
and set you heart free -
as it should be.

About me:
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I write
Sword & Sorcery creating an accurate and believable
realm of ages lost where a
multitude of characters come to life. In an era that was
brutal in the need to survive against both
mortal and immortal adversaries, there are moments of beauty and tender
emotion that retain a
balance to give the reader not only understanding, but
touches them in a way that they
easily attach themselves to one or more characters. In my
first novel, I hope you'll accept
that even a person of goodness can be driven to do evil
things in order to save others, just as
learning that within the darkest soul, there may be a
shimmer of light - if you look for it.
![]() Below find a few excerpts from book one: The
BATTLE LORD
The amulet around Drakara’s neck grew hot. The birds stopped singing. A harsh gust of wind struck. She snapped her head upward, catching movement from the corner of her eye. For a fraction of a second she saw the Hartoni and froze. How does it leave the Underworld without the Goddess? The creature vanished. Drakara’s mind slipped between realities, she yanked it back. Tendrils of fear crawled along her spine. Sickness overtook her stomach, knotting the muscles. She stood, freeing her sword from its scabbard.
The bed was a worn cot, its thin feather-cover, uneven. The warped plank floor was stained, rendering a musty staleness. A lopsided table sat crippled in the corner, more fit for kindling than its current use. On it sat a bowl, filled to its chipped edges with bloodied water and a tainted rag. Next to the bowl a mere clump of wax with a wick upon a rough-cut metal scrap, burned. Lannyn rubbed his pained forehead then glanced his hand noticing fresh blood. The day just past flooded his mind. He searched for his sword. It wasn’t there. He jumped to his feet, wincing in pain, head recoiling in a spin. The room faded. ![]() |
![]() ![]() see more photos at: Merlina René ~ author |
Click
on any
button
below to read my poetry,
fantasy
& sci-fi short
stories, and please check out My Links
page.






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