Philinna Wood, Fantasy Writer

🚨Amazon Sale Alert 🚨

The Heart of the Bloodstone ebook is only 0.99 on Amazon US and UK! Get it before the price rises again!

Do you know this feeling of wanting to break free?
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From expectations others have of you and from your own fears that tether you to a life you cannot stand?
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Avalan of the Bloodstone has had enough.
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No longer will he tolerate living under a chief that has enslaved his tribe. No longer will he look the other way as a palisade is built around his village, caging his dreams, his hopes, his soul.
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The path he has chosen is hard for it forces him to accept things about himself that he has never known.
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Shadows lurk in every step, hearts are torn apart with hope, steel rings against steel, but at the end of the night only one question lingers:
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Will you fight for your freedom?
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𝗧𝗵𝗲 𝗛𝗲𝗮𝗿𝘁 𝗼𝗳 𝘁𝗵𝗲 𝗕𝗹𝗼𝗼𝗱𝘀𝘁𝗼𝗻𝗲
(Link in my bio)
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Covert art by the one and only Felix Ortiz.
Design by the awesome Shawn T. King
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How fierce is your dream?
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Does it keep you up at night, with eyes open but unseeing, thinking of what was, what is, and what could be …
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Until you reach the mountainfoot and your path looks so wild and foreign your body shies away, but your soul, your soul steps forth for it cannot see, it cannot hear all those voices behind you that scream, “Beware of the ditch! The mountain is the house of a witch! The night is moonless and so deep!”
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And when you reach where you should be, do you turn back to cast your gaze upon the twisted path, and do you wave to those voices who, now silent, long to see you win?
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Or do you weep?
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For what was, what is, and what could be.
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—Philinna Wood
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🌟BOOK LAUNCH🌟
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Avalan is a hunter in a cage.
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In the village of Hydrus, a fastness secluded from the Stone Lands, Avalan was born. He swam its warm waters, hunted through its blackwood forest, played the goat games on its white shore.
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Now, he watches the chief erect a mighty palisade to keep his tribe contained, forbid the magic of the birthstones, exile his childhood friend, and punish the tribe of Hydrus for daring to love, hope, dream … As the chief’s madness grows, so does Avalan’s longing to lead the tribe to freedom.
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But Avalan’s dagger is no match for the chief’s powerful stone magic. Much as Avalan hates the stones for being the chief’s weapon, he realizes there’s only one path to freeing his tribe: find what was denied to him, the missing piece of his soul …
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The Heart of the Bloodstone.
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I can’t believe my book has finally launched! It was a long, long road, but I did it. Never give up on your dreams.
⚔️ This is the first book in an epic fantasy adventure series with multiple POVs, twists and turns, and a magic system based on birthstones. ⚔️
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Available now on Kindle/Kindle Unlimited and as a paperback and hardcover! 📕 (Link in my bio)

Dear David, I will miss you terribly.
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Thank you for everything you taught me.
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Thank you for believing in me and for being there for me when I needed you the most to guide me and encourage me and teach me what it means to be a writer.
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But most of all, thank you for being you—a bright soul, a kind spirit, and a loving heart. There is no other teacher like you, but we promise to carry your teachings in our work and pay it forward as much as we can.
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I am so happy I met you and so sad we lost you so soon. Until we meet again in a better place, rest in peace.
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We will always love you.

When the king’s daughter falls ill with a mysterious ailment that won’t lift, the king orders Bramian to find a well in the forest that may hold the answer to the princess’ survival.
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Read this new short story on my website, where you can also see the full cover by in its full glory.
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philinnawood.com/book/the-well/
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Moving on to the sequel! (Stayed up late last night to finish book 1)
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I can’t believe I didn’t get into this series earlier!
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The first thing I do when I finish a fantasy book is go to Goodreads and read the 5 and the 1 star reviews. Why? It really helps me understand what readers want. What elements they enjoyed, what they hated, and what they wanted less of or more of.
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I was a bit amazed at some 1 star reviews this book got because of its “plain language”. Someone went as far as saying that it’s a pity this story idea landed in this author’s mind when he isn’t good at telling a story.
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Now, I get the point of “this book has plain language”. Yes it does. And that’s the beauty of it. A complex concept (universe, characters, magic system) delivered in a plain language that doesn’t bog the adventure down. I personally find Mr. Sanderson a GREAT storyteller. Probably because I’m a gamer as well, so I enjoy action scenes. The plain language in this book was a breeze of fresh air.
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Every storyteller has his/her own style. Some are great stylists, weaving beautifully words together, and others use plain language to get their story across. But at the end of the day, they’re all storytellers. For me it doesn’t matter. As long as the story’s good, I will follow along.
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What do you think? Have you ever judged a book by its language? Do you prefer style over plain language in fantasy?


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I’m IronPushing and SteelPulling my way through this story, and so far I’m loving it!
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I strongly believe that a story should be about the characters and that plot should serve them, and not the other way around.
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In my novel, I want to create an emotional connection between the reader and my characters and make them see the story through their eyes. This book has helped me a lot to understand how to create strong, memorable characters that make people care.
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What do you think? When you read, are you searching for this great plot—an unforeseen twist— or a powerful connection with a character to follow along the story?
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A new short story is now up on my website under the Short Stories tab. I hope you’ll like it and will forget, if only for a moment, the dire situation we’re all in right now.
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Read it here: philinnawood.com/book/the-healer/
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Awesome artwork done by
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Have fun in your head and stay safe!
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Until next time,
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Philinna

For all of you fantasy readers stuck inside, I’ve teamed up with other authors to bring you Free Fantasy Stories!
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Click the link in my bio and enjoy!
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The prequel short story to my novel, The Goat Game, is included in the bundle. Just look for the goat’s skull😉
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Have fun in your head and stay safe!
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Until next time,
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Philinna

“Just keep on falling, sweet little star, and with your fall, bring my Prince Charming; let him be brave, noble, and blonde—the rarest sight of them all. I’ll let them see that I don’t care, if I am not a maiden fair, for he will love me anyhow, or else I swear, I’ll feed him to my cow!”
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Ella and the Falling Star, an original fairytale, has a new cover by my amazing friend, Randy! The full story is up on my website under the Short Stories tab (www.philinnawood.com).
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During these hard times, writing stories is what keeps my head straight. What about you? How are you coping? Sending you lots of love wherever in the world you are.
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Research time for my book🥳
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Powerful elixirs, numinous crystals, and healing concoctions... I don’t think it gets better than this.
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Philinna Wood, Fantasy Writer updated their business hours.

Hello, I know I’ve been away for a while, but it was for good reasons! I created a website so I can share my longer stories with you without having to post them here in parts.
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Also, I have written a new short story, The Goat Game! How awesome is the cover made by ? You can have the story for free by clicking the link in my bio.
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BookHip.com/XKZQRF
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If you read it, let me know what you think! This story is a prequel to my upcoming fantasy novel series, The Stone Tribes.
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Stay safe during these challenging times. Until next time, Philinna
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Read the story below.
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Art by J.R. Coffron. You can follow this amazing artist here
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This story is inspired by the work of art, but is in no way related to the original artistic idea.
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~
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1/2
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Krampus awoke with a sinking feeling in his heart—it was Christmas Eve once more.
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Stretching his hind legs, he dragged himself out of bed and reached for his bedside table.
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A cool breeze coming from the open window stroked his hairy face. His eyes searched for the list, and true enough, as always, a rolled parchment tied with a red string was resting on his table.
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He unfolded it carefully, all the while wishing that this time the names on it would be no more than a handful.
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Yet his eyes met with a long list of names. Names of kids that had misbehaved; some of them stealing apples from neighbors’ trees, others leaving their beds unkempt, and some chasing the chicken with yardsticks.
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The list went on and on, and when in the past every mischief would make Krampus’ heart sing with joy, now it only made him dread what had to follow. He was to pay a visit to each of these kids and unite them with their proper punishment.
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He eyed his long birch that leaned against the wall. No, that would not do. This bloody thing grew longer with every beating of a naughty child and he dreaded having to carry it all along in his long journey of punishing the village’s
young ones.
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No. This year had to be different. He had to find a way to punish all these rascals in one go. All of them together.
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He was scratching his long goatee when he heard a joyful jingle of a bell.
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He rushed to the open window just in time to see Nicolas’ sleigh, dragged by his reindeers, fly over his hut. Resting over the sleigh was a large sack brimming with toys of all kinds. The sleigh flew lower and lower until it disappeared behind the tall treetops of the snowy forest.
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A wicked smile formed on Krampus’ face.
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Continues in the comments.

Read the story below.
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Art by Artem Demura
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Disclaimer: This story is inspired by the work of art, but is in no way related to the original artistic idea.
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1/2
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For the first time in his never-ending life, Hades had to leave his chariot behind.
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No beings—alive or dead—could ever cross the Gate of the Fallen. The soles of his feet ached with every step he forced his weary body to take. Yet, he dared not stop. He had a task to complete, a burden to take off his shoulders, and time was wasting away like a merciless wind, never stopping, even for a mighty God.
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Upon a slight wave of his staff, a soft blue shimmer of light iilluminated his path. He raised his head and took in the dark splendor of a gate that had sealed the fates of many. Its guards were faceless, monstrous creatures thirsty for the agonizing screams of those who died above, sentenced to a life of misery and agony in the underworld. His world.
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This was a place of darkness, where unfulfilled dreams were lost forever, and hope desperately clawed its way up to find itself, once more, amongst the living.
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Sighing, he took a step forward.
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A bony arm reached for him from above, carrying the stench of death. “You shall walk no farther.” The voice of the creature was a rasp, like the crumbling of thin paper.
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“I need to see Him,” Hades said, keeping his eyes averted.
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“He won‘t see you today,” the creature said. “Too much to do… too many of them to welcome.”
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Hades took another step. “Tell him, I’ve changed my mind.”
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The creature's cackle was colder than the icy winds that blew on snowy mountains. “It is too late. The promise has been given.”
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Hades flinched at the creature’s words. He raised his staff and made to move forward, but was met by the creature’s extended hand. It felt like a blade, slicing through him. The hand moved away and its old, creaky finger pointed to the left of the Gate.
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Continues in the comments.

The night was falling fast, and dark grey clouds loomed above our heads, carrying the promise of a storm.
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“Let us find shelter in this castle,” I said to my men.
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They stared at me, wordless fear dripping from their eyes. When I made to start, none of them followed. It was as if their feet were rooted in the muddy ground.
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“Speak,” I ordered.
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Furtive glances were exchanged, throats were cleared, and finally Dareth came forward, fiddling with the chain that held the sickle around his waist. “We should camp here for the night.”
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“Lift your eyes. A storm is fast approaching. Can you not see the lightnings, can you not hear the thunder?”
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“Some rain won’t kill us,” Dareth said gravely.
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I eyed him with disbelief. “But a roof over our heads will?
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“You are a stranger to these lands,” Dareth said, looking at the castle. “No man will willingly enter this place.”
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“Why not?”
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“Because of the scribbling maiden.”
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A shudder shook the bodies of the men.
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I had started to grow restless. I wasn’t ready to hear one more time their strange tales of the ghost maiden who scribbled letters to her lost love under the flickering light of a candle.
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The long journey through the damp forest and my aching limbs made me long for a fire and some dry floor to rest upon. “I won’t sleep under the rain.”
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I strode toward the dark castle, ignoring the sharp inhales behind me.
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As I got nearer, some movement caught my eye. A curtain swelled in front of an open window; illuminated by a dim, yellow light.
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I hesitated for only but a moment; I could not risk turning back and shutter my manly pride in front of my mens’ eyes.
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When the storm finally came, I reached a bit closer to the fire I had managed to ignite and thought of them, their tired bodies pray to the icy rain.
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Yet, the much needed sleep never came, for every time I closed my eyes I was awakened by the scratching noise of a quill against a dry, soulless scroll.
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The storm had come without warning.
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Strong, sudden whirlwinds had landed on the village tearing the houses’ rooftops, smashing them to the ground, leaving the peasants exposed to the storm’s voracious appetite.
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Even after the Sages had sent their prayers to the mighty sky, its fury refused to ebb.
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Rainfall drowned the streets, turning them into unstoppable rivers that washed away everything in their path.
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The only thing that stood was the castle.
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Soon enough, the peasants had made their way there, clutching the land with hands and feet, clawing their way to the castle’s gate.
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Their pleas reached my ears like cries of desperation, yet there was nothing I could do, trapped in the castle’s highest tower.
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The rain made its way through the thin bars of the tall windows, whipping my skin, and drenching my aching body to the bone. I tightened my grip around the rusted rods, as the strong winds threatened to lift me off my feet.
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I caught the movements of a woman below.
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She had lost her bonnet and her long hair billowed behind her neck. In her arms she was carrying a bundle, hunching her shoulders over it to protect it, while she yelled for help. Between the crackling thunders and the hissing of the angry winds, I discerned some of her words. “Please—take him—save him—”
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A nasty snapping sound echoed, and I watched a tree getting knocked over; its roots rising from beneath; its bark twisting at the mercy of the storm. It started whirling toward the woman, who had seen nothing and was still trying to make her way to the gate.
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“Watch out!” I yelled with all my might, again, and again, and again, until there was no voice left in me.
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She disappeared in front of my eyes, dragged under the force of the uprooted tree.
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My eyes darted right and left, desperate to see her again. My heart couldn’t help but cling to the hope she had survived.
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Her lifeless body lay on the ground, her voice sounding no more.
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A noiseless cry left my mouth.
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I pried the bars around me open, and ignoring the stinging pain that came from my bleeding hands, I let myself fly.
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For me it was the Manuscript found in Accra.
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Whenever I read one of Paulo Coelho’s books, I realize the extraordinary beauty and power of life.
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Coelho is a Master of simple words, who makes you see the most important things in life—love, faith, s*x, beauty, and so much more—for what they really are.
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Summary:
On the verge of losing their lives and seeing their beautiful city get destroyed, the people of Jerusalem seek advice from a sage, named in the manuscript as The Copt. He speaks to them about the values of life, and gives them comfort that these values will survive, even if the city falls.
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What about you? Is there a book that’s made you shed a tear?

“Do you believe in magic?” he asked me, pushing the window open.
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The wooden shutters creaked and thick fog slid into the room.

I pulled my cloak tighter around me. “I don’t believe in anything anymore.”

He said nothing. Only smiled and rested his hands on the sill. A cool breeze caught his hair and sent it to an elegant dance around his neck.

I closed my mouth and waved my hand to drive the taste of the night away. I eyed the door behind me once more, willing it to burst open and free us from our confinement, but it remained fastened and unmoving.

“All is lost,” I said to him. “We fell into his trap like greenhorns.”

He beckoned me to the window. “Come,” he said. “It is time for us to leave.”

“Have you lost your mind?” I said, gazing at the sea below us. “We know not how to swim.”

“Perhaps, but we won’t need to swim through sea. Just through the sky.”

I turned my gaze upwards and smiled. Perhaps there was magic after all. How else would I explain that as the moving clouds above us cleared, the unmistakable silhouette of a bloated balloon appeared in the sky, carrying a basket big enough to fit twenty men?

The stranger held the sphere close to his heart, yet the image the orb revealed was of a place that lived in mine. The place I had always known and called home, reduced to smoke and ashes; the unmissable sign of death hanging over it, swallowing all hope.
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The Stone Tribes

Let’s be bad for a while! Who would you like to be and why?
I think I’ll go for Mortiarty, because his wits and power were enough to challenge the greatest man there ever was, Mr. Sherlock Holmes!

He spoke to me of worlds unseen that lived and breathed beneath our feet. He sang and drank and danced so high, and all the while it seemed to me that it was there his heart had wished to be; not here, not with me.

I read The Hobbit when I was eight years old and I will never forget the way it made me feel—excited, full of wonder, so in love with fantasy.

Do you remember your first? Which one was it?

And so we journeyed for forty days and forty nights, huddled together inside the wet belly of our vessel. Our sodden clothes clung on our skin, stealing away the feeble warmth of our bodies. After we had thrown the tenth body in the sea, I stopped counting; I had no more fingers left in my hands.

I love big books—the bigger the better! That’s why series are my favorites. It’s like tackling a huge story one piece at a time! Also, you get to spend more time with your favorite characters and know them better.

What do you prefer to read?

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What is magic? Read a book, then close your eyes—do you see it? That, my friend, is magic.