E.A. Shanniak


In the land of JRR Tolkien, Ericka would be a dwarf; hairy, small and lover of feasts. Barely reaching over five feet tall, the stay at home mother of two writes at her small, unimpressive desk daily to deliver a tale delved from her past.

Her small, sausage fingers scribble unintelligible words that are thankfully fixed by her word processor. She ravenously eats meals her kids overlook. She lovingly washes the garments worn by her hard-working, supportive husband. Ericka hoards toys in totes that Smaug himself would be jealous of.

Ericka works diligently on her novels to give compelling pieces of literature that would have otherwise filled a hobbit's hole instead of bookshelves at the local stores. Being only 27 years of age, this dwarf still has a lot of adventure to fulfill before she resides with her ancestors underneath The Lonely Mountain.

Ericka hopes you enjoy her books. She hopes adventure finds you, grabs hold, and drags you out of your front yard, you little Bilbo!

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Shifting Aramoren

AND THE GODS OF CASTRE FOUGHT… From the sands of Castre, Aramoren shielded his eyes against the sun. The Gods collided; each battling for sovereignty of Castre. Disappointment settled on Aramoren’s face for there were bigger issues at hand than a sibling rivalry of power. The people of Castre had a problem in the form of a Meerdoran Warlord. The tyrant mountain of a man enslaved the fae, bending their magic to his will. Blood littered the ground, the sands, the streams, all in his inglorious name. Aramoren magicked himself to where the warlord would be, facing off with him in a battle that would long be unremembered by mortals. BUT THE GODDESS HAD DIFFERENT PLANS FOR ARAMOREN.