Sunny Naasiri
Follow the Crusaders of Hope as they embark to the unforgiving realm of Smarngul. They seek to recover the Pearl of Kalimar, an artifact of immense power before it falls under the hands of the immortal Hapdemir. The key to unlock the pearl can only be done by reassembling eight fragments of the Mask of Shra’kator altogether. Travel back to a time where powerful civilizations thrive. Discover forgotten races and unravel secrets that serve as a clue to a greater purpose. Along the road, the Crusaders cling to their mental discipline and skills to survive against seemingly insurmountable problems.
Sunny Naasiri was born in 1987 and studied in the New International School of Thailand before moving to Virginia in 2001. His passion for creative writing began when he was a sophomore at George C. Marshall High school because he learned that imagination is more important than knowledge, according to Albert Einstein. Inspired by R.A. Salvatore’s Dark Elf Trilogy series, he finally decided to craft The Final Crusade when he was 16. Sunny is currently a junior at George Mason University majoring in Information Technology and will graduate in 2009.
On personal terms, he enjoys playing sports at his leisure time, doing community service for Buddhist temples, and is also has a passion for traveling. He loves to travel to Thailand during summer to reunite with friends and cousins. Family wise, he is the only child who also has no pets as well… Sunny’s imagination will not stop because he plans to concoct another novel with a mysterious element – Pandemonic Maze, packed with action and filled with mind-boggling riddles.
Torepol bolted out of the door, not because of panic, but because of physical discomfort. More red lumps dotted his skin and now it ran across his entire body. Blood began running down his face and his eyes rolled out tears that stung him in pain. Acidic tears! Garell screamed as she saw Torepol’s face began peeling away like a half-melted candle.
“Your face is slowly liquefying, Torepol!” Garell wailed. Frasken and Arone looked with horror but Torepol stared at them with pure dread. Torepol was not the only one deteriorating, the other three also felt the excruciating burn on the skin and the lumps of red dots were forming rapidly.
“By the gods! Our physical forms are slowly dissipating! What vile poison is this?” Torepol shouted.
Frantically, the warriors attempted to figure out a solution to this terrifying enigma. How in the world could they cure something they have no prior knowledge? Frasken smeared Carak’leaves on himself and others, and they all shared drinking healing potions yet it was no avail. Torepol’s pain considerably lessened but his melting face indicated no healing. Their hearts sank, as no challenge they endured could be more mind-boggling. Would this be their end? Whose hands would the Mask of Shra’kator fall under?
