Teel James Glenn
A native of Brooklyn, he’s traveled the world for thirty years as a
Stuntman/ Fight choreographer/ Swordmaster, Jouster, Book Illustrator,
Storyteller, Author, Bodyguard and Actor. He’s over two dozen books
contracted and in print and sold poetry to T-Zero, Athena Sidhe, Blazing
Adventures, Heroic Fantasy Quarterly and others.
He has choreographed action for over 300 plays, 50
Renaissance Faires and 60 films.
His greatest achievement however, is his awesome
daughter Aislin Rose.
Learn more about Teel here:
Teel James Glenn
Congratulations, Teel, for your
Short Story collection Of Swords and Sorcery, in the top ten finalists
of the 2010 Preditors and Editors Readers Poll!
New Titles by Teel James Glenn
Order Of Swords and Sorcery PRINT!
back in time and look at battle through the eyes, mind and heart of a
Viking Warrior. Teel James Glenn uses his unique perspective to give
modern day readers a poetic glimpse into the past.
The text is accompanied by the author's illustrations.
Word Count: 3722
Pages to Print: 31
File Format: PDF
Journey to worlds of heroes and monsters, of swashbuckling women and
magical villains in short stories by a master of action and adventure!
In Of Swords and Sorcery Teel James Glenn presents a collection of tales
of magic and swordplay that range from the frontier forests of colonial
America to the fare flung world of Altiva. From the Shores of North
Africa against the Barberry pirates to the shadowed alleys of New
Orleans to the movie magic of Hollywood in the 1950s!
There are quests for love, and fights against fire breathing dragons,
mystical dictators, alchemist summoned demons and deadly female
assassins along the way.
These are classic tales of damsels and do-gooders, in the pulp style
adventure tradition of Conan, Zorro and Captain Blood!
Word Count: 67,500
Pages to Print:
File Format: PDF
Price: $ 4.99
Toni at Sony eBook Store
Toni V. Sweeney
Hymns to the Battlecrow
lies the warrior,
Of every Celtish ancestor,
are all composed―
for me's no
Back to Hymns
Tales of Swords and Sorcery
Devil of the Deep Woods
The Fire in the Deep
The Huron lived in their homeland they called Ouendake in the
shadow of the Other Folk who lived in the caves of the underworld and
the Sky People. Thus they were always in a middle place between the
warring forces. Yet they practiced the sacred rituals that made sure
they lived in balance.
Then the White Skins came from the land across the great
waters and brought with them a different way. The French were wise and
let the People live their lives much as they had before. But the
British, enemies of the French, decried the gods of the Huron, took the
land that was the free right of all and claimed it-as if any of the
middle realm could own land.
So for generations, the British and the Huron contended for
supremacy sometimes violently, sometimes peacefully, while the world
continued to spin with neither gaining advantage.
Then the French and English settled their feud in far away
Europe and those who had allied themselves with the French were suddenly
told they should serve the English. The arrogant Sir Jeffery Amherst
made it known old treaties showing respect and annual gifts to the
Ouendake were to be discontinued.
The Prophet of Delaware preached a return to the old way and
the great Pontiac fought against the whites. But some who fought the
invaders did so with even darker weapons then the bloody tomahawk.
From the darkest of the deep woods the echoes reached the
settlements of the British of a new prophet who was leading the Huron
down paths leading straight to Hell. With the echoes came the screams of
the damned and the cackle of unholy laughter that lingered even in the
bright sunlight of midday.
The Dark God Descends
"Kill us if you want, monster," the pain wracked farmer cried
in a hoarse voice, "and end this abomination!"
His only response was twisted laughter out of the early
morning darkness; a song played on pipes never meant to play such a
The smoke from the burning buildings of the English
settlement filled the valley with a dense fog that stung the eyes and
muffled the cries of the tortured souls trapped within. The light in the
eastern sky was pale pink with false dawn and combined with the flames
of the burning huts, casting a hellish red glow over all. It illuminated
a scene from the darkest corner of Hell.
Thirty of the pitiful victims were tied to stakes in a long
line down the center of the road running through what had been the
settlement of Willow Creek.
Standing before the staked figures were a small army of
savage figures who might have come directly from the halls of the
damned. They were dressed only in breech cloths, with eagle feathers
braided in their long black hair, with clan tattoos and war paint
clearly visible against their bronzed skin.
They were Huron warriors from many clans and they stood
united behind the cackling figure at their head, who spoke to the
"You will die to the glory of the Huron," the old man who
lead the warriors said, "and will bring to this frail form of Karkuk the
means to drive all the white skins from our land forever, French and
British." He stepped forward and took a long curved knife to the neck of
the farmer in a long slice. One of the painted warriors raced up with an
ornately carved wooden bowl and placed it beneath the wound to let the
flowing blood pour into it.
A wailing went up from the group of children and women forced
to their knees by a knot of warriors. Each of the prisoners was yoked
with rope to the next. They cried in horror as one by one their men were
slaughtered with prayer and ceremony. The ritual was repeated with all
the men until almost thirty vessels were full of the sanguine liquid
The old wizard stepped up to the last two men who were
fastened to the stakes, the minister and a farmer named Paterzun, a
Dutch settler. Both men looked at the old Indian with stolid faces.
"You are the examples to show the power of my dark god,"
Karkuk said. "Then my followers will know without doubt." He raised his
hands above each of the men's heads with his twisted fingers spread.
He began to mumble in a deep voice words of the ancient
Wyandot language. After a few moments the two men started to moan and
their faces contorted as flaming pain passed through all their limbs.
They began to vibrate as the pain swept through them and the women and
children watching began to cry all the more.
"Become the symbol of what will become of all the white
skins! Our land and our gods will claim you all!"
As he spoke a change crept over the two men. Their faces
contorted to hideous masks of pain and then the color of the skin began
to change and darken. The texture of their skin began to alter so that
in a few minutes their flesh no longer looked like flesh; it had the
aspect of some gnarled wood with deep ridges and whirls as it hardened
into a bark-like covering.
The two men's moans rose in volume until they became wails
like the damned; and the women and children's voices stilled, and the
very forest seemed to fall silent as they screamed their last as humans.
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