My name is Ian O’Rourke, and the main thing you need to know about me is that I’ve never cracked anybody’s skull who didn’t deserve it. Actually, until a few weeks ago, I was a peace-loving wheat farmer who preferred to crack jokes instead of bones. But two sorcerers slaughtered my closest kin and sent me running for my life.
Yeah, I’ve suffered, but I keep my feelings locked deep inside and plan my revenge. Jesus said to turn the other cheek, but some things cannot be forgotten or forgiven.
A clan of Celtic witches in Boulder, Colorado agreed to take me in–on the condition that I learn fighting magic and protect them against their own sorcerer scum. I agreed. Now I’m a deadly weapon in the making. My fists, staff, and spells are the tools of my new trade. It’s a nasty job, bruising and often bloody work, but at least I’m on the side of the angels. I’m after the bastards who killed my kin, and they’ll curse the day they attacked the O’Rourke family.Read previous articleRead next article