James Golden
Bio
James Golden was born in Los Angeles, California. Raised in foster institutions, James found a penchant for creating stories that transported him to new worlds. The Sanguine Universe is his ever-expanding escape and he hopes you enjoy it.
Stories (18/0)
The Island, part 3
The Island Part 3 Addu Island Maldives 12:05 AM Alex was not there. The consciousness of Alex Kyznetsov lay cradled in the mind of the Crone Mother, kept like a sleeping babe. Her yellow, jaundiced eyes glowed sick and ephemeral within the dark skull of Alex. A long tongue flicked tiny, deadly fangs as she smiled.
By James Golden12 months ago in Fiction
Utopia
Jasoar Redking, Lord of Fire and Bringer of Death, arrived on wings of flame to defend the sacred border march. The astral paths blazed like kindling behind him as they closed, and he touched down on hard mountain soil overlooking a blighted and ugly world.
By James Goldenabout a year ago in Fiction
The Night Train
The Night Train A Sanguine Universe short story of sacrifice and sin By James Golden It came slowly, patiently. The steady, unending rattle of the train filtered its way through Iah's thoughts, unraveling the majesty of that ripe, green world and its glorious, unearthly arena. It pulled her from her dreams, and, with a slight hiccup, a rough patch of track that jostled her upright, thrust Iah firmly into consciousness.
By James Golden2 years ago in Fiction
The Brotherhood of Kings
The Brotherhood of Kings Ascension Chapter 1 The Unbound King There weren't always dragons in the Valley. Once, the heavenly realms and the Valley of Prime had been populated by angels, beings of light, heat, and immense radiance. These angelic entities tended the world and served the rare, gifted mortals capable of harnessing the aetheric power of the divine realms. Called Light-Bringers, Torch-Bearers, miracle workers, and more, the most common term for these empowered mortal souls was Magi or Mages.
By James Golden2 years ago in Fiction
Chasing Ghosts
Collin's Ranch, Texas 3:01 AM The old family cemetery shook and the bones of generations past rattled in their graves. With a charnel yawn, the ground split open, revealing row after row of shifting, fresh dirt stairs that descended into the bowels of the Earth. The wails of the dead eeked out, staining the realm of the living invisibly, joined by a pleasant whistling melody and the occasional, piercing cry of an owl.
By James Golden2 years ago in Fiction
