Two mercenary magi have stolen the Tome of Ten Magicks from the Thanox Corporation, and they want it back. So does a poisonous potion maker, a dark angel, and a twisted Collar. Everyone will have to fight to keep the Tome from the wrong hands, whoever those are.

This magical, modern-day fantasy epic is the celebrated, original Reality's End work whose success has yet to be duplicated, even until this day.

Orson, a renowned assassin of dark magicks, has become too strong for his own good. Now, the Empire he served wants him dead, as do the inhabitants of distant elemental dimensions. He cannot stay in the shadows forever, and with some help he finds along the way, Orson must combat his old, evil ways in order to save himself--and the world.

A fantastic medieval tale of swords and sorcery.

Dear Steve,

The old soldier wound his way through the streets of the town, his sinuous, Eastern dragon familiar following in his footsteps. Everywhere were the signs of a long, hard winter; sodden paths, waterlogged houses and still-white snowdrifts. Here and there, patches of grass, flowers and other growing things struggled to reclaim their world from the grasp of the cold season. The adventurer sniffed. He loved the cold, for some unknown reason it sustained him, and the signs of a coming spring always turned his mood sour.

Untold power and mysteries are locked away by the Key of Ages. With a price on their heads, Geirrek, Entropy, and others seek out this artifact for reasons as elusive as the Key itself...

Join this canon tale based on RealitysEnd.com's own mythological game, Battling Dragons, and you could help determine the future of the game itself!

My hands jolted before me as my body was hurled to the ground. My face was covered, so no dirt would bring injury. I knew it was nothing, I knew the next event. But nonetheless, I still did it. It was an immediate reaction.

I felt the atmosphere around my body change in speed. I recoiled my arms to see the clouds of the sky surrounding me. I sighed. This was getting no better. The other children would hurl me when I entered the marketplace, wanting me to taste the texture of dirt on my snake-tongue. But, I would always end up in the sky, my dragon wings beating furiously.

A rag wearing wretch tumbled across the mist laden floor. He raised his purple topped head to cast a menacing glare from under his brim. A jagged grimace was his only word to his foe.

"Accept it, old timer. You have been bested," contested the foe, a floating being who beamed with light. "For the first time in many a Rumblon, the Legendary Dairy shall not fall to your unworthy hands." It clenched a webbed, clawed, gloved fist to symbolize seizing victory.