By Michael Moorcock
“The tales listed here are the uncooked middle of Michael Moorcock. they're the spells that first drew me and the entire various admirers of his paintings with whom i'm familiar into Moorcock’s luminous and desirable web.”
–from the Foreword via Alan Moore, author of V for Vendetta
When Michael Moorcock started chronicling the adventures of the albino sorcerer Elric, final king of decadent Melniboné, and his sentient vampiric sword, Stormbringer, he got down to create a brand new type of fable experience, one who broke with culture and mirrored a extra up to date sophistication of subject matter and elegance. the end result used to be a daring and designated hero–weak in physique, refined in brain, depending on medicinal drugs for the energy to maintain himself–with nice crimes at the back of him and a better future forward: a rock-and-roll antihero who may channel the entire violent excesses of the sixties into one enduring archetype.
Now, with an incredible movie in improvement, this is the 1st quantity of a stunning selection of tales containing the seminal appearances of Elric and lavishly illustrated via award-winning artist John Picacio–plus essays, letters, maps, and different fabric. Adventures comprise “The Dreaming City,” “While the Gods Laugh,” “Kings in Darkness,” “Dead God’s Homecoming,” “Black Sword’s Brothers,” and “Sad Giant’s Shield.”
An essential addition to any delusion assortment, Elric: The Stealer of Souls is an unrivaled creation to an excellent author and his so much famous–or infamous–creation.
“The most vital united kingdom writer of sword and sorcery, a sort he has either borrowed from and transformed.”
–The Encyclopedia of fable
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Extra info for Elric: The Stealer of Souls (Chronicles of the Last Emperor of Melniboné, Book 1)
It jutted up at a steep angle, piled on three beneath it. Like spilled matches. He jumped. The log split, and he frantically leaped off again. Desperately, he clutched for purchase. His fingers slipped; he fell back. He dug in wildly, trying to draw his body up on a flat surface. He made it. Gasping, panting for breath, Barton lay stretched out on the log, waves of relief flooding over him. Finally, he pulled himself to a sitting position. If he could go a little farther he should be able to catch hold of the truck itself.
I even made up a special golem with an extra-large brain, but it couldn’t tell me anything. Maybe you can help me with that. How are you on the clay? ” He came close to Barton and lowered his voice. “Nobody around here knows anything. There’s actual opposition. I have to work completely alone. If I had some help…” “Yeah,” Barton managed. Good Lord, what had he got himself into? “I’d like to trace one of the Wanderers,” Peter continued, with a rush of excitement. “See where they come from and how they do it.
He had almost fallen asleep over his dinner plate. His coffee had cooled to a scummy brown; the greasy potatoes were hardening fast. ” he muttered. The man sitting next to him pushed his chair back and wiped his mouth with his napkin. He was plump and well-dressed; a middle-aged man in a dark blue pin-striped suit and white shirt, attractive tie, heavy ring on his thick white finger. “My name’s Meade. Ernest Meade. ” He smiled a gold-toothed professional smile. “I’m a doctor. ” “Just tired,” Barton said.