Lars Konrad Mooresmith


Lars Konrad Mooresmith grew up rambling with a brother and a dog over the rolling hills of the Inland Northwest of the United States. He spent most of college with his nose in a book, preferably action-packed fantasy or sci fi, but looked up one day to find he had graduated with a degree in neuroscience. Going to graduate school was a no-brainer, and he continues to spend most of his time poking that mysterious tangle of neurons called the central nervous system to see what makes memories tick. He currently lives in the Greater Boston area juggling graduate work, writing, punning, and sleep.
He also writes poetry ranging from humorous to darkly incisive, enjoys hobby lock picking, painting, 3D printing, and swords and sorcery role play games.
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The Occisor Cycle

It is the year 1095 of the Holy Zennodic Calendar and the alternate Victorian city-state of Hambridge stands as the world’s leader in free thought, trade, art, medicine, innovation and innovative crime. But the wheel of history never stops churning the mud of the present. The insatiable dreams of the rich and powerful threaten to disturb the sleep of everyone else. Caught in this backdrop of artifice and machination, Sickly Dodger and his band of young assassins, thieves, and misfits fight to survive and protect one another. As plots unfold, the crew will have to take the fate of the world into their own hands, however reluctantly. Because if they don’t, someone else surely will.

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Being an assassin is no stroll in the park. Which is why Sickly Dodger, recent attendee of the Dalton College for Men in Black, has decided to hang up his cloak and dagger and walk toy poodles for rich old ladies.
Unfortunately for him, assassination is a job for life. When a mysterious letter arrives on his breakfast table, he must decide whether to buy some new body armor and solve a murder case the City Watch have given up on, or put his tail between his legs and bark up a different tree. To make matters worse, Sickly must confront a plot that threatens himself, his friends, and the city armed only with a blank expression, a red notebook, and a homicidal guard dog named Crowbar.

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