city of ashur, mesopotamia
Assyrian Era – 1813 B.C
The young couple idled in a beautiful garden, watching the sparrows sing melodies into the warm sunshine. As always in the late afternoon, a frumpy, self-important man tended to the plants before them. The owner of the house kept him only, perhaps, for he was much worth his weight in gold, allowing the owner to enjoy the reputation of having the best garden in Ashur.
The owner’s daughter sat quietly by the edge of the pond, dangling her feet into the cool water, laughing as the fish tickled her feet. His son watched her quietly, lounging on a sunbed and eating fresh dates and sweetmeats offered from a servant.
Though all seemed serene, the household blessed with wealth, health and charm, the atmosphere was suffused with an aura of imperceptible dissatisfaction. The girl’s parents had been called upon by the Assyrian court of the city for the first time, and had not yet returned. She couldn’t help her worry, though she hid it behind a serene smile and a blink of her lashes. The boy was even more anxious, for as an orphan he’d only been brought to the house in an unusual act of charity; he was well aware that his situation rested upon them.
The girl was supposed to be embroidering a shawl, but had long since given up the effort, the needle, thread and silk sitting idly in her lap. The boy held a stalk in his hand, which he used to flick away any curious insects. They spoke softly, each with wistful expressions on their faces, though the expressions and feelings they implied were for very different reasons.
“You should keep your hair covered when in the presence of a man, Shuri, you know what the royal court and those high priests of the temples say,” the boy muttered as a servant came out to refill the wine.
“You are hardly a man, Druaga; you are my brother, so you don’t count,” Shuri sniffed in response.
“I do, according to those high priests,” Druaga replied.
“These religious figures can say what they wish; they know little of me. It wasn’t like this in the olden days,” Shuri said, morosely swishing her feet about.
“The olden days? You mean before the Assyrians conquered our city? That was many years ago; how could you know about the old days?” Druaga teased.
“Silly, it doesn’t take an old soothsayer to talk about the old days,” Shuri scoffed. “The proof is here, all around us. Our ancient people have it carved in every wall and written in every scroll, if only one can be bothered to look. You might not like the legacy of our people, Druaga, but that doesn’t mean the rest of us share your apathy.”
Druaga only squinted in response. “Well, it isn’t I who makes your parents look bad,” he muttered, but Shuri was quick to hear him.
Title: The Samsaric
Author: G.W. Lwin
Genre: Fantasy Horror
The plague of 1918 A.D:
The mortal world is in a state of devastation.
A woman wakes up in an abandoned temple of Kali, the goddess of darkness, in an ancient city of Gaya.
She does not know where she is.
She does not remember the events leading to this.
She only hears a familiar voice of a tormented man who has haunted her dreams.
He tells her a story – of a time of souls and suffering, of immortality and gods, of life and death.
This, he says, is Mesopotamia.
THE SAMSARIC is a fantasy-horror novel based on ancient vampirism, history and mythology. Set in an era widely considered to be the cradle of civilization, it is a story of once-powerful mortal races and ancient gods and goddesses to excite and inspire.
I love anything that comprises the old and the ancient full of rich history and spirituality. For me, reading and learning from our ancient past is truly a beautiful, unique and intriguing journey.
From a young age, I have felt that there were two versions of me: the old spiritual one and a young soul who still lives in his fantasy world.
However, both of these versions share one commonality – my interest in vampires from the ancient mythology and beliefs. I was mesmerised by their folklore since young.
The need to express is very strong within me. Writing, for me, provides this gateway and helps me to grow as a person. It is a life-long learning path that I gladly embark.
As a writer, I would like to improve each and every stage of writing, to possess the art of crafting words to communicate the emotions that arise from within to the readers … a vision shared by many authors.