The World of Atherra
From the burning halls of Dravengarde to the storm-swept seas of Ormyrion, the Archive preserves the lore of kingdoms, noble houses, and battles long past
I’m E.J. Cordoue or Esteban, a writer, father, and creator of the Tales of Varestal. For me, storytelling isn’t just words on a page — it’s a way to breathe life into entire worlds, where rebellions rise, crowns fall, and legends linger in the shadows. I’ve been writing for years, but Varestal is my greatest passion — a realm I hope will grow alongside those who discover it.
Beyond the pages, I’m also a father to my daughter Elisia, who inspires me every day to keep building and dreaming. Between long shifts, late nights, and early mornings, this archive has become my sanctuary — a place to share not only my stories, but also the journey of an author still learning, still striving, and still believing in the magic of fiction.
Welcome to the Archive of Dravengarde. Here, you’ll find the worlds I’ve written, the thoughts I wrestle with, and the pieces of myself I’ve left behind in every tale
Community Friday (Discontinued)
There’s a point in writing where things stop feeling controlled. Not like messy in a bad kinda way.Definitely not lost. Just… a bit different. Like the story isn’t sitting in your hands anymore.Like it’s almost standing across from you. I’ve been feeling that a lot recently working on The Heretic’s Gospel. At first, it was…
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There are weeks where everything moves forward. And then there are weeks like this one. The kind where things shift without warning. Where plans fall apart faster than you can rebuild them. Where you find yourself sitting in the quiet, trying to figure out what comes next… and realizing you don’t have a clear answer…
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The cell was damp. Cold. The stench of old blood and mildew clung to the air, settling deep into Varian’s skin. The chains around his wrists had long since numbed his hands, but he barely felt them anymore. He had been here for days. He did not know how many. Time had blurred in the…
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The iron chains bit into Varian’s wrists as the wagon jolted over uneven ground, dragging him toward his fate. His head throbbed from the blows he had taken during his capture, and dried blood crusted the side of his face. The cold night air stung his skin, but it was nothing compared to the fire…
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I’m gonna be real with you all for a second. My posting schedule for The Fall of the Duke has been… terrible, to say the least. No real excuses, I re-dropped the first few chapters, then completely lost consistency. Life got in the way, I got in my own head a bit, and the story…
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