We’re in business! Blackout is now available at a number of fine stores online.It’s completely free, 30000 words long and I hope you enjoy it. If it’s good, tell your friends. If it’s bad, let me know. 

Thanks for reading and enjoy your day.


Gathering Opinions and Gathering Steam

It’s safe to say that I am an unknown writer.We all have to start off that way and it’s our job to change that and I’d like to start changing that soon.

Plan of Action. With that in mind, I am very happy to announce that my short story anthology and soon-to-be debut piece of, hopefully quality, literature is nearly complete, the final title being Ira Draconis: Blackout. There are seven short stories and a prelude, the shortest is 1000 words long and the longest 4500 words, that I’d like people to read. Not review, mind you, just read. I value your opinions and would very much like to know them.

Once that is done, I plan to distribute the anthology on Kindle and then expand onto paperback copies once I gather steam. This first book will be free forever, a sort of introduction to me as an author and to see if you like my style or not. If you could leave constructive reviews and responses, negative and positive, I’d be eternally grateful.

A word on my previous forays. I’ve released a novel before. Two, in fact. Neither was exceptional nor were they professionally edited and they ended up being quite bad. I’d gotten some reviewers to look at them and they weren’t received too well. Those days are past me, I’ve improved, if I may say so, and you can safely ignore those. This is not to say I’m erasing those errors. I recognise them and I own them. So if you see any reviews of anything under my name (Dahraan du Toit), know that those are from a time before I picked up vital experience.

Contact. I realise that there is a need to create a fanbase of sorts. It’s the most difficult part of being an indie writer: becoming known. It’s going to take time but hopefully I’ll be able to grab your interest and deliver something good.

If you have any questions for me, would like to read my short stories or just want to say hi, my contact details are below. I respond fairly quickly. That’s relatively speaking, of course, as my timezone (UTC +2) might mean that I get an email at 1 AM and can only respond a few hours later.

@Skwonz (at this point in time, I’m just sharing blog posts from here onto there. Nothing special, yet.)
Tumblr: (I haven’t quite figured out Tumblr yet but I sometimes share my half-baked art there. I suppose I could post more casual stuff there once I’m properly up and running.)

Thanks for reading and enjoy your day.

His Head

Max refused the image her eyes gave to her mind. The door to her home had swung open and stuck there in the forceful gale, three men being the ones to open it however. They’d come without warning and without a word. They’d come with an ultimatum, to her father, a man of honour and duty. Why would they demand something from Patrick Harris, a custodian of trade and goodwill? The biggest of the three, a bearded man named George, locked Mr Harris’ arm behind his back, pulling the limb far further than was necessary, and pressed him onto the handcrafted oak table, flattening his face in the process. Mrs Harris had the misfortune of walking in on the scene, her jaw dropped in fright and a hand placed to muffle her terrified shriek. The second of the men replaced her hand with his and put a knife to her throat. Max hid behind her father’s box of dirty clothes, not able to muster the courage to look at her mother’s fallen corpse staring beady-eyed at her, blood running along the box’s rim. The third man, pleased with the result of his comrades’ raid, looked at poor Caitlyn Harris’ face and sniggered.

“A shame to waste a beauty like this. You struck lucky for once, Patrick,” he said, pinching Caitlyn’s cold cheek. Mr Harris struggled weakly against the brute holding him down, but a quick snap of his wrist motivated him otherwise. “But luck has a way of changin’. That was your change, Patrick. ‘Unlucky’ is your standard. George, Matt, take Mr Harris to the square. He has some… confessin’ to do”.

Continue reading

Dragon Soul – Decisions

I’ve made the decision to split Wyvern Diary’s direct sequel, Dragon Soul, into 2 parts. Part 1, Hailstorm, shall be from Steve’s perspective and will continue the evolving Dragon General plot-line and other matters from Wyvern Diary. Part 2, Wolf Pack, will focus on Damian’s quest to find out why Drake defected and a certain set of words from Colonel Blayde in Fate of the Forty Sixth will resonate. Go read that and make some speculations. Sending an email and getting the plot thread right wins you a 25% discount for Wyvern Diary and both parts of Dragon Soul. Fans of the Fate of the Forty Sixth will be happy to hear that more fights will take place between secondary characters.

Happy reading.

My email:

The Bloodbringer

A little promo story for Dragon Soul. Chew on this for a little

The dark Brisbane streets were dead, still with a stark lack of the common and honest folk. This was time that thieves and murderers wandered the streets and the six o’ clock curfew that the children were given was for their own safety. The quiet city dwellers knew exactly how justified the curfews were. And now, at eight o’ clock, the parents feared for possessions and lives of their own. Brisbane was one of the worst affected after the Blackmatter incident and the city had never really recovered in those forty odd years. It was that unlucky city that the PMC couldn’t spare forces for, the hub that the administration didn’t require immediately, the place that had once been great but no one cared about now. Gangsters were more common there than in Cape Town in the early 2000s and they held more sway over the people than the business leaders or the mayor.

John peered out fearfully from his window, through the dusty curtains that rippled and shed dirt across his face. He knew it wasn’t wind because his windows had been fastened shut and barred. He was glad for that, having enough money to afford steel protection. He reasoned that the shaking must have been from his hands then. John looked at the once proud street and wondered how much happier it must have looked during the daytime, when light and people flooded it. The gloom carried a kind of dark mystery to it, one that made John think of the old crime novels he enjoyed reading so much. And much like the old, dog eared pages, the paint on the buildings curled and peeled, giving the city an all too common ugliness. John’s breath escaped his mouth when a brisk moving form entered his line of sight.

Continue reading