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Alone Amidst the Icy Peaks: A Lone Journey into the Northern Wilderness - An Odyssey to the North by Faelion Arather -= Introduction =- The snow-capped peaks of the northern mountains have always held a strange allure for me. Over the years, I've embarked on several short expeditions into their icy embrace, each time feeling the thrill of the unknown tugging at my heartstrings. One of these journeys, undertaken in the esteemed company of the valiant Sir Onon, still lingers vividly in my memory. However, the story I'm about to share is not about those fleeting escapades in the northern wilderness. No, this tale belongs solely to my most recent and the most protracted expedition into that glacial expanse. As I sit down with quill in hand to chronicle this adventure, I find myself ensconced in my humble abode within the beautiful city of Lurin. Outside, a gentle breeze rustles the curtains by my windowsill, carrying whispers of distant lands. Yet, beyond these city walls, an unforgiving world of ice and snow awaits my return. For this journey, I am alone, armed only with my wits and instincts. The companionship of Sir Onon, his wisdom, and his steady hand are absent on this journey. It is my hope that this record will serve as a testament to a descendant's unyielding determination in the face of nature's harshest trials. Within these pages, you will not encounter recollections of past expeditions or traces of shared adventures with companions. Instead, I shall detail the ordeals and triumphs of this solitary voyage, where Faelion, yours truly, confronts the unknown with nothing but unwavering courage and a resolute determination, amidst the gentle winds of Lurin. -= Chapter 1 =- The first day of my journey to the north was marked by a series of peculiar encounters. While I ventured deeper into the grassy landscape, my heart raced with dread upon witnessing a grim spectacle that sent shivers downs my spine—an eerie, grotesque, lifeless tree stood sentinel in a vast grassland, adorned with the macabre remains of countless souls. In that chilling moment, my heart pounded with a mixture of fear and urgency, compelling me to mutter a silent plea to myself to leave the place with haste. With great caution, I pressed forward, putting as much distance as I could between myself and that unnerving sight. After several hours of traveling, I arrived in an area of rolling hills, where the landscape stretched out like an ancient tapestry. In the distance, I spotted a distant hamlet, its simple and rudimentary walls hinting at an insular community likely wary of outsiders. Following my instincts, I chose to avoid any possible conflicts and proceeded with my journey. Continuing my journey, I drew near to a relatively lofty mountain range, which naturally demarcated the southern rolling hills from the northern expanse. The peaks of these mountains were concealed beneath a dense shroud of clouds, creating an almost surreal atmosphere. The biting cold permeated my bones, an unrelenting reminder of the north's harsh and unforgiving nature. Desiring relief from the bone-chilling cold, I sought sanctuary within a grove of trees that offered a welcome shelter. Here, nestled among these gnarled branches, I felt I had at last arrived at the northern frontier. With a weary sigh, I readied myself by donning my winter gear, bracing for the unrelenting cold that lay in wait in the northern territories. -= Chapter 2 =- On the second day of my journey into the cold and unforgiving northern realm, I pressed onward, determined despite the relentless cold that seemed intent on testing my resolve. As I forged ahead, a surprising and intriguing sight suddenly unfolded before me—a gleaming golden cross, marking my entrance into this enigmatic northern territory. My curiosity was immediately aroused, and I couldn't resist examining the unusual etching on the cross-a delicate flower in full bloom, its petals intricately etched and elegantly shaded in various shades of gray. This vivid contrast against the bleak surroundings left me both perplexed and captivated. It stood out as an unexpected symbol of beauty. After hours of relentless trekking through the snow-clad northern wilderness, I reached the recognizable boundaries of The Kingdom of Hanseti-Ruska. It had been a considerable period since I had last stepped foot in Haense. Once again, I ventured into the kingdom, where the biting cold was both relentless and unforgiving. The harsh climate made visibility difficult, and the sharp winds constantly forced me to adjust my course. Notably, the capital city lay shrouded in spikes of ice and snow, with massive boulders hewn from the same frosty substance. These boulders, hollowed to create passages, obstructed the bridge leading to the city. The streets of Haense, once familiar to me, appeared dramatically transformed, almost unrecognizable. The capital of the Kingdom of Hanseti-Ruska had shifted from a muddy and dusty landscape into a land shrouded in ice. Furthermore, the streets were eerily deserted during the night, casting a chilling and unsettling ambiance over the city. It was a stark departure from my previous memories of the place, leaving me to ponder the mysterious transformation that had taken place. Venturing beyond the capital, during the same night, I drew near to the towering walls of a formidable fortress. The biting northern wind gnawed at my skin, and my eyes began to feel parched. With each step, it grew increasingly difficult to breath in the dimming light of the waning day. With each deliberate step, the snow yielded beneath my feet, emitting a satisfying crunch. The wintry breeze from Snow Lake caressed my skin, causing my breath to materialize in the chilly air. Just outside the open castle gates, a hospitable sign extended a greeting, displaying the name "Isaakev." Upon my entrance into the castle, a warning sign cautioned me about the long, winding stairs that lay ahead. Ascending these stairs, I arrived at the castle's courtyard, perched high atop the castle, and I began to explore the expansive, empty grounds. As I approached what appeared to be the castle's keep, my attention was drawn to a statue dedicated to an individual named Alex. The inscription at the base of the statue read: "Alex 19⬜⬜[... THE FOURTH WALL IS SHAKING...]⬜⬜⬜2 Gone, But Never Forgotten." Within the castle's keep, I came across a room that seemed to serve as a small throne room. At the entrance to the throne room, two statues stood tall. The lapidary of one statue read: "Stephen I, or Stefan (Naumarian: Stefan Karl), became Haense's King in 1610 after his election in the National Duma at the age of fourteen, following the Greyspine Rebellion and the Second Battle of the Rothswood. As the lone surviving son of King Marius from the House of Barbanov, he transformed Haense into a potent Empire vassal through strategic alliances, despite his controversial Imperial involvement. His legacy mingles progressive Haeseni reforms with his intricate role in Imperial dynamics." The lapidary of the other statue bore the words: "James II, or Jakob (Naumarian: Jakob Marius), is the most infamous of the Ludovar patriarchs, most notable for his work in the Brotherhood of Saint Karl and the Ludovar Trial. The trial meant the end for the Principality, and Jakob was soon castrated on false charges. Later, the verdict was overturned with new testimony coming available. He was returned his knighthood, and the remains were returned to the House, but the House of Barbanov-Ludovar has never quite recovered." Following my exploration of the history-rich castle grounds and absorbing the stories engraved in stone, I chose to find solace within the silent halls of Isaakev. There, within the imposing fortress's calm and seclusion, I rested, rekindling my strength and determination for the demanding journey into the harsh and relentless Northern territory. -= Chapter 3 =- On the third day of my journey through the snow-covered expanse, my travels brought me to what appeared to be a hunting cabin nestled in the wilderness, a humble and inviting structure standing alone in the vast, white landscape. Intrigued by the cabin's rustic charm, I couldn't resist the urge to pay it a visit, even though it appeared unoccupied. As I explored the cabin's immediate surroundings, I couldn't help but appreciate the cozy and inviting atmosphere it exuded. After a brief exploration, I carried on, eager to venture deeper into the frost-covered realm. Not far from the hunting cabin, I chanced upon a town situated in the heart of Snow Lake that was in the midst of construction. Curiously, there seemed to be no apparent access to the town, and apart from the ongoing building efforts, there was little else to hold my interest. I moved on, continuing my journey through the cold and desolate wilderness. Time swiftly slipped away, and after numerous hours traversing the unforgiving white expanse of the north, I came upon peculiar structures that starkly contrasted with the snowy plateau. Upon closer examination, I was met with a haunting scene—frozen blood, scattered bones, and a grim tableau of the aftermath of an unknown ritual. It was evident that this place had served as a site of sacrifice. An unsettling chill crept down my spine as I indulged my curiosity with a thorough inspection. Quickly, I departed from this disquieting place, eager to avoid becoming entangled in any potential ritualistic activities. As the third day neared its end, I arrived at a solitary walled fortress perched high on a snow-covered mountain deep within the icy realm. As I approached the fortress's gate, I couldn't help but notice that it was firmly sealed, and a sign indicated that pilgrims were required to don a veil for entry. I surveyed my surroundings, but there was no sign of any life, and I strained my ears to detect even the faintest sounds in the prevailing stillness. Employing a spyglass, I scrutinized the walled fortress, and it became evident that it had been deserted, reduced to a mere shell of its former self. As the day reached its conclusion, I opted to explore the vicinity of the isolated fortress, and there, I found a poster advertising a hunting cabin named "The Honing Doe Lodge and Retreat." It was at that moment I realized that this was indeed the very hunting cabin I had encountered earlier in the day. As night descended, I took refuge in a modest shack on the fortress grounds, preparing to pass the night, pondering the concealed mysteries within this northern land. -= Chapter 4 =- At the crack of dawn, on the fourth day of my journey, I arose, brimming with enthusiasm to resume my exploration of the northern wilderness. Equipped with my trusty spyglass, I scanned the terrain extending farther to the north. It seemed evident that I was drawing near to the recognizable mountain ranges denoting the northern border. Deciding to alter my course, I redirected my gaze toward the west, recalling that past these peaks lay the northern sea and an uncharted island I had yet to explore. Venturing westward across the frozen wasteland, I made the deliberate choice to veer off the beaten track, opting for an off-road route instead of following the existing road. I hoped to come across interesting sites and discoveries off the well-trodden path. During my expedition, I encountered an armor stand standing alone in the midst of nowhere, a patch of frostvine clinging to some intriguing ruins, and dense copses of trees. Soon, I reached the boundary between the snowy plains and an area rife with volcanic activity. I turned to the east, intent on further exploring this vast expanse. Nonetheless, my heart's yearning led me to explore the northernmost island. I ascended the rugged mountain ranges and descended to the opposite side, making my way to the spot where the two lands were closest. Utilizing my reliable 'portable' boat, I traversed the sea to reach the island's shores. As I gazed through my spyglass, my initial impression was that the island appeared uninhabited. However, upon further inspection, I soon discovered signs of habitation on the other side. Driven by curiosity, I made my way to the village I had spied from a distance. As I approached, I couldn't overlook the imposing, thick, black walls encircling the village, which left me pondering their intended function—likely constructed to conserve warmth in the unforgiving northern climate. My attention was also drawn to some peculiar red shrubs emitting steam from what appeared to be berries. This unfamiliar sight made me exercise caution, leading me to keep my distance from them. Upon my arrival in the village, I was greeted by one of its residents who kindly offered assistance. I gratefully declined and explained that I was but a simple explorer, traversing the northern reaches of Aevos. In return, I asked about the name of the village and discovered that it was known as Aeltarys. Extending my appreciation, I readied myself to proceed with my exploration, informing the resident of my intentions to explore the rest of the expanse. As I prepared to take my leave, the resident of Aeltarys offered a word of caution, advising me to be vigilant in the wilderness due to the presence of perilous creatures on the island. I expressed my gratitude for the warning and bid the resident a sincere farewell. "May the radiant flames in your heart guide you along your path," I said before departing the village, extending my best wishes as I embarked once more into the snowy expanse. -= Chapter 5 =- On the fifth day of my journey, I found myself in a place that held a painful memory from a past expedition—a treacherous high-peaked mountain, perpetually shrouded in thick clouds and surrounded by large, jagged ice shards. As I ascended, the unrelenting polar storm of The Mountain seeped through my being, chilling me to the core, and my blood seemed to freeze within my veins. Then, a mysterious and supernatural disembodied voice resounded, commanding me to go away. Feeling the imminent danger to my life and heeding the commanding voice, I decided it was no longer worth the risk to scale this treacherous mountain. While descending from The Mountain, I observed a sequence of black banners that appeared to delineate a path along this side of the ridge, implying the existence of a trail. Intrigued, I decided to follow the trail marked by these banners and eventually arrived at a bridge leading to the opposite side of the ridge. Regrettably, the bridge had collapsed, forcing me to opt for the longer route in order to reach the other side. Upon reaching the other side of the ridge after the bridge's collapse, I was confronted with a staggering and disheartening sight. A once-vast settlement now lay in ruins, its structures fallen into the frozen wasteland. The overwhelming sensation of being watched gnawed at me, and I felt a mysterious pull emanating from The Mountain. The relentless snows and the unrelenting winter storm of the north continued unabated, pelting the land with hail and snow. Campfires mysteriously extinguished under seemingly ideal conditions, and the wooden fortress of the town had been reduced to rubble. The entire place exuded an eerie aura of surveillance by an unseen presence lurking in the snowdrifts, scrutinizing every step I took. As the howling winds cried out like distant banshees, cold breaths seemed to graze my neck within the midst of the blizzard. I stood on a trail that led to the bridge which had collapsed, marking the ascent toward The Mountain. The battered banner of The White Mountain obscuring a red sun, seemingly frozen in both time and space. The remnants of tools, clothing, and signs of a once-thriving civilization were strewn haphazardly throughout the forsaken settlement. As I surveyed the remnants of what had once been a formidable fortress, I couldn't rid myself of the uncanny sensation of being under scrutiny. In subdued whispers, I extended my heartfelt condolences to the souls who had perished in this tragic place. Pushing eastward, into the unexplored territories, I came across an intriguing sight: a set of golden gates perched atop a mountain, seemingly placed in the midst of nowhere. As I drew nearer to the gates, a [REDACTED] stared at me, its wings gracefully flapping. It radiated an enigmatic and contradictory aura, one that appeared to simultaneously mock and convey a sense of sorrow above the grand entrance. Opting to evade any potential confrontation, I paid my respects to the perplexing scene before me and pressed on with my expedition. Gradually descending from the snowy mountains, I eventually came upon a settlement unmistakably in the process of construction. The materials used for the construction seemed foreign to the surrounding expanse, potentially imported from afar. A thorough examination of the architecture indicated that it was the work of Dwarves. Even though there were no workers present during my passing, I silently wished them success in their ongoing construction endeavors. Descending further from the snowy mountains, I ultimately reached the snow-covered plains, marking the point of transition between the snowy desert and the taiga region. Having thoroughly explored and mapped the entire northern territory, a sense of accomplishment washed over me. I decided to bring my expedition in the north to a close, deeming it a successful and comprehensive endeavor. -= Afterword =- From the earliest days of my youth, I was captivated by the countless tales of adventure and exploration that filled the pages of books. As time passed, my curiosity continued to drive me, kindling dreams of venturing into the mysterious unknown. The decision to pen this book was born from the sincere hope that its readers, whether young or old, adventurers or explorers in their own right, would glean valuable insights from my personal experiences recounted within these pages. My journey across the Northern expanse, with its challenges and triumphs, transcends age, gender, and race. It serves as a testament to the power of curiosity, reminding us all, regardless of our background, to remain curious and embrace the boundless opportunities for discovery that life has to offer.

A 'Treat' in the Void Endlessly, you traversed the unfathomable depths of the stygian abyss, Amidst the eldritch horde, each preying mercilessly upon the feeble among your kind. Moments of respite were rare in this desolate realm, but at times, a 'treat' would plunge into the yawning void, And your unceasing odyssey would briefly halt. Through eons untold, your path unfurled, Feeding upon the vulnerable, consuming the weaker, Eternally eluding the ancient predators concealed in shadows, A relentless cycle of survival and predation, the abyss's decree. Then, as if orchestrated by some cosmic scheme, 'it' descended into the abyss, A disturbance akin to a single raindrop breaking the placid surface of a forlorn lake, A morsel, a 'treat' that sent ripples of anticipation through your kind's collective consciousness. With insatiable hunger, your kind surged toward the coveted prize, A frenzy of tentacles, jaws, and grotesque forms, all vying for a taste. And 'it,' the unsuspecting tidbit, quivered in response to this voracious onslaught, Yet, amid the chaotic tumult, 'it' found an abrupt, eerie tranquility. In your mind's eye, a vision began to unfold, An image of 'it,' the 'treat,' bearing a countenance defying reason. A soft, subtle smile adorned 'its' visage, Radiating from the abyss's very heart, And it was directed at you, and only you. In that moment, as you gazed into the abyss, the abyss gazed back, Transcending the limits of your eldritch existence, A connection forged through the consumption of 'it,' A communion of otherworldly minds in eternal darkness. The enigmatic smile endured, a paradox of comfort and malevolence, And as you drifted away from the 'treat,' consumed anew by the abyss, You carried the disquieting knowledge that 'it' had left an indelible mark, A cryptic guidepost on your voyage through the cosmic void, A signpost pointing toward inscrutable depths of understanding yet concealed. Within the abyss's inky folds, where nameless horrors reigned, a murmur of unfathomable revelation had brushed against your consciousness—an enigma woven into the void's very fabric. "May the radiant flames in your heart guide you along your path."

Into the Depths of Beleth: The Lost Temple of Teo'Camaxli - An Adventure Log by Faelion Arather Entry 1: The moment I beheld the Temple of Teo'Camaxli for the first time, a profound sense of awe overcame me. It loomed majestically above the cascading waters of The Jungles of Beleth, a sentinel guarding ancient enigmas, its towering silhouette visible from vast distances. Nature had recaptured much of its structure, yet the temple's enduring presence remained undeniable. It exuded an energy that elevated my very spirit, infusing me with boundless wonder and an insatiable curiosity. Approaching closer, I could discern a mysterious aura in the air, a resonance of some bygone magical force. The temple's decayed wooden palisades and serpentine walkways, testament to time's inexorable march and the relentless jungle, intertwined haphazardly across its façade. The true moment of wonder arrived at dawn. The temple's zenith served as a focal point for the sun's initial rays, casting a brilliant illumination upon the plateau, akin to a celestial lighthouse. For those fleeting minutes, it seemed as though the heavens themselves bestowed their radiant blessing upon this ancient sanctum, revealing its concealed secrets. Entry 2: Today, I ventured deeper into the outer precincts of the Temple of Teo'Camaxli. Although I found no apparent ingress to the inner sanctum, my resolve to explore every facet of its exterior remained unwavering. The intricately chiseled stone motifs held a mystique that captivated me, and an unshakable conviction whispered that this place held profound significance. As my exploration persisted, I couldn't escape the intrigue of the Alchemical Signs of Aether, Air, Water, and Fire adorning the corners of the highest level. They concealed an enigma, I was certain of it, waiting patiently to be unraveled. Entry 3: The further I delved into the temple's exterior, the more profoundly I sensed its mystic embrace. With each stride, the atmosphere grew heavier, and the echoes of those who had tread this path before me reverberated in my senses. The very stones seemed to preserve memories of a bygone era, and I stood as an intruder within their sacred domain. Before me stood an imposing stone portal, bedecked with intricate carvings and adorned with glistening gemstones. It was apparent that this door represented the temple's core, yet it remained impenetrable. My fingers traced the cryptic symbols etched into its surface, but their intent eluded me. Entry 4: Today, I persisted in my exploration of the Temple of Teo'Camaxli's exterior. While the passage within eluded me, an unshakable conviction told me that there was more to this place than met the eye. The stone carvings and enigmatic symbols held a significance that eluded my grasp. Standing once again before the sealed stone portal, reverence washed over me. It was as if this door safeguarded the temple's most profound secrets, and my determination to unearth them remained resolute. With a deep breath, I pressed my hand against the chilled stone and silently prayed that one day, the concealed mysteries would yield to my unwavering pursuit.

The Legend of the Werehare (art by suviridian at deviantart) by Breasal Nimblefoot Chapter 1 The Beast Lurks Once upon a time, long ago in the days of yore, there was a humble village of Halflings called Flowerburgh. There, the Halflings lived their lives peacefully in their close-knit community, isolated from the rest of the world. There were many great families that had influence over the village, these were the Bronzeberries, Strongbrands, Littlehills, Riverfeet and the Flinthills. Every great family had their specialty within the village. The Bronzeberries were notable for their crafts, be it woodcarving or metalsmithing, while the Littlehills were significant farmers and herbalists. The Riverfeet were known fishermen and merchants, in contrast to the Strongbrands who were excellent hunters and had many members in the Shirewatch. Last, but certainly not least, were the Flinthills; the greatest family of the village were many of their ancestors held the position of Thain. Here we find a notable lad called Liam Flinthill, somewhat short in stature for a Halfling with blonde hair and a clean-shaved face, he is the troublemaker of his family. Not wanting to partake in the village’s politics, he seeks for a peaceful life working in the fields and messing around in the tavern. As Liam finishes his breakfast and packs his lunch, on his way to the fields he is joined by Gardenia Littlehill, a fine lass of fair and red complexion. “Good mornin’ Liam, how’s that noggin of yars afta’ last nigh’? Ya drank like there was nae tomorrow” she cheerfully asked. “I’m fine Gar, I slept like a log when I got tae my burrow. Are ya ready for today’s field work?” he replied with a smile on his face. “Sure am! I hope Dill comes tae help us since he said he’s skippin’ huntin’ today” she exclaimed hopping along the way. As the two made their way to the fields, there they were greeted by Iris Littlehill. “Mornin’ folks, ready tae join us removin’ the weeds?” she asked the pair. As the two hummed in agreement, Dill Strongbrand arrived quickly in the scene “Ah... ah... ah... sorry for bein’ late” he said out of breath. “Ah... gimme a momen’... oof aight I’m ‘ere for the harvest” he said as he gathered his energy. “We’re nae doin’ any harvestin’ today silly, that’s for tomorrow, today we’re removin’ weeds!” Gardenia explained to him. After the trio took their sickles from the field equipment shed, they joined Iris and the rest of the farmers. As the hours passed the farmers removed the weeds from the crops and soil, by the afternoon they were all finished and tired from a hard day’s work. “So, are ya goin’ tae the tavern again Liam?” Gardenia asked as Liam was a quite known drinker. “Nae, I’ll pass this time, I’m goin’ tae my burrow tae sleep an’ wash myself. I’ll stay a’ home tonight.” Liam answered as he was spend from all the field work. Soon the trio had made their ways to their burrows, Gardenia and Dill went to the tavern later on, whilst Liam did exactly as he said. Spending the night reading a book by the fireplace. As Liam was reading the grandfather clock struck thrice, half-alseep he opened his eyes to see what was that noise he heard. “Huh wha- oh it’s just the clock” he said to himself as he got up from the club chair “Lord it’s midnight already? Welp, guess it’s time for bed then” he exclaimed with a yawn at the end. As he was getting ready to head downstairs, a red flash caught the corner of his eye. He stopped and looked at the window, where a small shining red dot was visible. Slowly approaching the window with caution he got closer and closer, to the point where his face was but a few inches away from touching the glass. There in the dark, the dot was still visible and as Liam gazed at it from afar, an outline from the dot was beginning to appear; that of a large humanoid creature. It’s head suddenly moved, and the creature was gazing back at Liam with its shining red eyes. Liam felt a life-threatening fear building up, and when he took a step back the creature ran swiftly into the darkness. Shocked by what he saw, he went to his bathroom to wash his face. After some time, Liam came to the conclusion that his mind was playing tricks or that it was some kind of prank. There, lying on his bed Liam fell asleep after ten minutes had passed. He dreamt of open grasslands, as far as the eye could see, then suddenly the sky turned black and the smell of ash and death reeked. Liam sprang up from his bed “Huh!? Oh, ‘twas just a nightmare” he said to himself after calming down. As Liam was making his way to the fields for the harvest, he saw almost the entire village gathered, shocked by something. When Liam climbed a nearby boulder he saw why the people were shocked; all of the fields were barren, every crop was either missing or half-eaten.

The Little Witch of Wrath Art Credit: @Heartesy Ooc PSA: Soft charming noises filled an old palace crippled in the decay and ash that was left of the voidal horror. The palace once filled with a beauty that held magic at its talons and shared the life that breathed in the sky. When it fell they rebuilt. They remade the functions and built a palace ment for a prince or two. Instead creatures that lurked below chased them away. It was burned to the ground.. Than frozen into a hell that was a lot colder than any mortal would like to stand. Moirai had not rested in almost fifty years, her eyes couldn't settle closed. She was unable to sleep, to rest.. to breathe.. The creature was left in her small dimly lit palace rooms to raise her vultures. To eternally kill, to eat, and to stay cold and frozen. She in fact couldn't die or live. The monster looked though she would turn to a statue, her eyes discolored one of her mother the Witch of the north, the creature who’d caused an eternal winter. The other eye of her father, the man her mother ate while the young child had watched. She was disgusted Pristine white hair and skin grayed over with her crossed lineage the creature looked frozen in time. there she’d stood a statue in her own baren kingdom. She would’ve stood there forever. had the voices gone dormant for so long that she could. “Tashnal Bhrun” The voice’s words would be a nail deranged and scraping at the ends of a chalkboard with a crisp whine. However to the frozen creature the words were a reminder of the choice she hadn't made. “TASHNAL BHRUN” The voice sounded louder banging against the steel ice caves of the monster’s mind “I am no longer the youngest.” The creature spoke to the voice; her tone was a careful anger storming in a field of snow. “I am in fact an ELDER” she hissed out her talons wrapping around a thin beam holding a iron cage up to the ceiling The room shuddered a silence had crept into the palace once more “You cannot run Bhrun” The voice sounded firm knowing and willful “I cannot or I will not?” She asked her tone, sliding into a more passive manner the discolored creature hunched over with frazzled white hair stood straighter, a shift taking over her form and leaving behind a beautiful elfess with skin that looked like smoke and eyes brighter than the ocean and skyline. The frazzled hair settled into unruly curls that wrapped around her arms and filled her face with definition. “Do not speak to me unless you intend to finish the conversation” she muttered while swinging her clawed hand towards an old wardrobe. “Serhiem has fallen Tashnal Bhrun, You are the princess of nothing” The little creature standing around 5’7 looked up as though the voice was not in her own head “I was never the princess of Serhiem. Ma’ wishes to see me follow her steps. I wish not to.” She sounded like a young teenager, defiant and wishing to prove something. “Tashnal Bhrun you grow hateful.” “I am not the youngest witch!” she protested flinging her hand and fishing out a set of robes that shared a blue and white coloration dancing freely at her form “Return.” the voice demanded its words impossibly loud dancing around Moirai’s head “I will not kill anymore, I am through with that. I will eat what is provided I will not murder I didn't choose this!” she hissed out stomping her foot on the ground letting out an irritated yell “I would rather STARVE then let mother win.” she screamed the halls of the palace shuttering slightly at the drastic yell “You’d live in denial than chase what you wish” “Think that as you will, we had an agreement” the woman mustered out a few scowles “Azunul” “I'm the selfish one now?” she asked cursing under the little air in the castle There was silence. Moirai's gaze closed and the wind was still, she had not consumed air in almost a decade. “Is she really dead.. the ome’ii?” asked the immortal creature “Kex” There was a long moment where nothing was said and the creature’s mind lay baren of voices. She spoke her words with a soft and careful attention “I wish to be more powerful than her, I will take her power.. I will take her people, I will become what she will fear.” the witch spoke her voice not faltering once “Then wake up” The witch’s nose wrinkled up as a small flurry of cold air brushed against the creaking palace snow began to trail down the water’s slowing into a frozen wasteland the charred tattoo’s along the creatures arms and legs glowing a white then blue the snow was coating the palace it must’ve been. “Al’ Tashnal Bhrun zu’ pzym” “Ulde” “Dektu” “Vorkuhz” The witch opened her eyes before her were the last remnants of the palace, looking as though they had been tarnished and destroyed for many many years. There was no snow, there was no ice, there was a barren world and a dangerous creature which had been let out into the open once more. The woman looked like a beautiful embodiment of death. She looked calm, as she took in a breath her glare pinned startlingly to a monster next to her, coiled in smoke and a dusty ash. The monster looked like a bird, a vulture’s shape with talons twice the size of a large one. The monster looked at the witch and the frozen creature looked back. “Ulde al’ pzymzol.” Moirai stated her eyes turning into a dim blue, the beautiful discoloration similar to a cat dissipated leaving behind no trace of the mortality she often pretended to have. Moirai had awoken, a terrible fate the world would share Ooc Translations: Ooc notes:

_______________________________________________________________________ _______________________________________________________________________ It was a draining exploration, a lone soul seeking to find himself through the thick and thin of the troubles that grounded him. In the end, he did not find what he was looking for, instead found only the tree that left him bitter and alone. Forcing a remembrance of not the good times, but rather the bad. A plume of flame being the only thing left from the venture. And a bitter elf. The day was hot and humid, the rays of sunshining beaming down upon the Silver State of Haelun’or, the city of Asul’hileia. It was when the times were saturated and abundant with trials of just about anyone, one for a petty argument, another for aggravated assault. Yet an elf, freshly victim to one such trial only for standing up for the justice he believed necessary to better the city. Stripped of his role as government official, his family turning their backs upon him in his time of need. On a bench, he sat tightening his boots with a grim look scouring over his visage. Left to rapid scrutiny by other citizens and ex-family alike, he felt at a loss and filled with melancholy and a dour gait in his move set. Outside, the humid city did he set foot to journey to a long, almost forgotten place. Dressed in a dusty, old set of blue robes and a traveling tunic of red that did not at all quite fit together, yet worn still they were. Not a person batted an eye at his lack of position in the city, finding his way out the gates that were never open did he walk towards the nearest harbor, that being the ruins from a recent undead dragon attack, being Cloudbreaker. Yet he did not care to search the ruins as other bandits and rats might, he only sought a boat, which ultimately he did find. A boat for one, large enough for the cool breeze and the deep blue sea. The wood groaned at the weight of the elf stepping upon the dusted surface, beaten yet still sea-worthy. He fastened a few ropes, raised the anchor and soon was set off, angled to the Northeast of Almaris. The sea was rough, waves high enough to topple the boat at any moment, yet by some outside factor did it stay erect. The wind billowed, pushing the sail forth which in turn propelled the rigid boat the elf rode upon. Days had passed, the nights calming the waters enough for the elf to sleep, if only for an hour or two. The food that sustained him only being dried jerky and hardtack that was swelled with sea spray. In the midst of night did the pessimistic high elf attempt to catch a few winks of sleep, yet the waters were not calm for that he was in the middle of the ocean. They were calm because he was close to his destination, a guttural, grinding sound having cried out as the bottom of the ship scraped against stone and sand alike where he beached. The Elf had been startled awake by the horrific, scratchy sound. Quick, was he to raise the sails and drop the anchor so that the boat would not float away, though it was unlikely it would ride the seas anymore. Upon the edge of the boat did he press a boot, leaning forth to look out at the greenery he found himself upon, a nod of approval showed as he recognized it almost immediately, though perhaps a bit overgrown if anything. It appeared to be the Silver Isles, home to the ruins of Karinah’siol. “Ah.. My home, gone and ruined..” A grumble sounded from the scornful elf, a robust sigh huffed out as he made his way through the overgrown brush. The coos and skittering of the local wildlife appeased him, atleast for a moment, bugs having done well to bite at his form as any tropical isle might house. Yet it was still familiar to him, nostalgic in a way, like a mother tucking in a child after serving them a warm cup of milk to aid in the process. The nostalgia shattered though when the high, silver walls were shown to him. They stood tall but were addled with holes, chunks having been worn out of them due to lack of upkeep. Crumbles of marble littered the outside, many an entrance littered at the base where no doubt that nothing good lived within. His resolve strengthened, as once again, that was not his goal. Instead, it was for something else, so his boots scraped upon gravel roads as he ushered himself forth towards the city ruins. Charred ruins of buildings such as the tavern or the soldier headquarters, the Sillumir, littered either side of the street. Such being the goal of the previous ruler in an attempt to leave the city unlivable in case of outsiders taking over. A sneer, distasteful as the sight was, covered the face of the else as he trekked through the ruins, up an old set of stairs with holes or crumbles. The gates that separated the esteemed ‘thill of the older land from the lesser' were raised. Perhaps a symbol of the integration of the old city's inhabitants joining the lesser in the horrid atmosphere of Almaris, rather than in secluded isolation on the Silver Isles. Or it was simply but a gate that no longer had a purpose, condemned to rotting and gathering rust whilst idle bandits or ruin-explorers wandered through. Such thoughts filled the mali’aheral’s head as he passed through, though soon to come to a stop as he saw what he came for. His old home, where he spent most of his time. Sweat from the trek stuck to the neck of the ‘aheral as he was quick to enter the home, still standing tall and regal as can be, yet worn with time and intruders. The windows had busted in, the sills of such were littered with shattered glass, the door having been taken off at the hinges and simply missing. And so he had no door to open when he entered to find many books, unlegilbe strewn about the floors, the carpet having been ripped and torn, notes scrawled onto the wall via dagger or blade. None of which held any coherent meaning except for perhaps a love feud or otherwise between two distinct lovers. Again, he passes by, leaving it to rest, to not overturn the dusty items that did remain. Instead, the high elf made his way to the room in which most of his time had been spent, studying, conducting experiments, or otherwise. Apart from a broken mirror or a bed with a missing mattress. The only tell-tale signs of it ever even existing were the feathers that had flown from it after it had likely been shredded. And in a bout of rage, but also with purpose did he lift his boot and slam it into the floor, the loosened nails quick to unstick and sling the board up to reveal a hovel to hide items in. Quick, did he calm himself, even as the memories of the past haunted his mind. The times of strife with those who sought only his blood, and for no other reason that he would not join them. The times of sorrow when he felt at a loss on how to continue his works, the times of when he had an overly heated debate that left him ostracized and outcast, as he was now. A deep breath to calm, and another. The heated memories quickly flow away, though oh-so eager to stay. The tired, sleepless azure eyes cast themselves down into the hovel, relieved to find the sack was still there. Took to his knees as he knelt down to reach for the sack and pull it out. The tie that held it closed was withered and easily snapped away at what little force he applied. His hand fished within to open it proper so that he might get a better look. A few trinkets and memorabilia populated the sack, a few of his first letters to his initial, yet ex-beloved, and a sack of minae. “There you are…” He let out a sigh of relief as a folded yet crumpled piece of paper was pulled from the sack. The Elf flicked it open to reveal the image it held. And it was no art piece, instead it was but a simple crayon-like drawing of a stick man that wore something that appeared to be either blue robes or otherwise, and a smaller, shorter figure that wore something lilac, appearing to be a dress of sorts. The two stick figures held hands, and so the elf's fingers tightened on the piece of paper, wrinkling it ever so slightly. A somber feeling weighed down on the elf’s shoulders, a sense of regret at what could have been but never will be. Time had gone on and there was no way to change that which occurs. Time travel does not exist. In a brisk movement, the folded paper tucked away into his pocket and the sack tied with a new string. As there was just one more place to visit in mind. A scuffling of boots kicked up a bit of dust as he made way out of the house and up the ruined street, a tree or two having fallen to block his path but was easily overcome by climbing over. Up a slight incline did he find himself walking, as the Silver Isles were a mountainous set. The travel was quick to wind his voidal poisoned physique, but with frequent breaks did the high elf make it up the path that led to a simple bench at the base of a tree, old yet still showing off intricate carvings. With age, moss and rust had taken root, saddling upon the aged piece of fine metalwork. This spot gave an overview of not only the ruined city but the rest of the isle, where a small Hyspian town has since been built off in the distance. He set himself upon the bench, an eerie feeling at the empty space that weighed heavy next to him. A sorrowful silence plagued his surroundings save for a few croaks from crickets or the like as it was perhaps four hours before the roosters crow. With the lights that were still lit within the ruins and the torches from the Hyspian town, the scenery of the island still held life though nothing like before. The silence offered him too much time to himself, a flicker here.. A flutter there. He felt eyes upon him, yet he knew none were there. But there were, for it was his memories and his thoughts that plagued him, a simple shadow cast over his form, yet incorporeal. The elf shifted forward and buried his head in calloused hands to let out a small sob, only when he knew he was fully alone, and that there were no peering eyes to take such a scene and gossip upon it. There was no reason behind it, except that the sobbing soon turned to wailing and a fit of rage was to be had. A blade was snatched from its rigid sheathe, and aimed with a quick slice did the ponytail that held back golden, blonde locks get cut away only to fall to the grassy park that he populated. The elf flung the blade once the hair had been cut, and off the edge of the raised cliff did it clatter against stone, scraping upon its descent as he rose to his feet. The ilk of his rage had yet to subside, and so his eyes burned bright a mist of an azure, similar to the color of his eyes shimmering around his hands and otherwise, the aura of such pulsated with power. A guttural sound grew from his throat as tendrils of the aura collected in a ball. The bench had since been tilted over and a few meters had been given from himself to the base of the tree where so many memories had been gathered. The ball of aura flashed and was quickly replaced with a ball of blue flame that grew hotter and hotter, taking in all of the oxygen it could get to swell and grow. And grow it did, though no specific form did it take, as soon as the ball of dark blue flame form, did it blast out in the form of a flamethrower. Firstly pointed up towards the leaves to set them alight all the way down to the base, quick to char the outer layer of the tree and thoroughly set it up in flames. A crackling of flame stayed as the magi’s anger subsided, the residual effects of the evocation left upon the tree, likely to be a beacon in the dark of night upon the island as he let out a cool, silvery sigh. His hands stuck themselves into the pocket of his worn coat to ensure the folded piece of parchment was still there. A turn of his heel, did the high elven mage depart from the scene of a burning tree, still as bitter and lost as can be. For there was no finding himself in the past, as he could only be himself in the present, as bitter and cruel as the one in the present might be. There had been little to be gained from the daunting venture to the ruins except for a piece lost to him and faded memories to haunt him, but an echo of the good times and the bad. ________________________________________________________________ _________________________________________________________________

Two babies found alone, a story already starting. Once there was a set to twins, both flaxen hair with deep forest gaze. The older of the two, he was reserved, quiet, and had a harder time with certain things, the other, he was troubled, restless, and strived to follow in his family's footsteps. As time moved on, so did those twins. The elder turned to the merchant lifestyle, lived a rather simple life with his wife and children. The younger turned to a rougher life, one he was unsure if he would return home or not but had made a vow to his wife that he would return no matter what. Times continued to change, One brother lost his wife, lost his ways, and went to where no one could find him. The other brother also lost his wife, he fell from his tower down into a dark abyss, unable to bring himself back to the light. When all hope was lost, time seemed to slow. The younger, lost and broken, on the edge of giving up. The elder, still lost in the world, lost everything he once knew, his family had longed for his return, hoping he didn’t meet his end in the unknown. The winds and tides suddenly shifted, The elder, he eventually crawled his way back to civilization, back to his family that had longed for his return, still broken and unsure but proud to be at his brother’s side once more. But the younger, still struggling to survive, ever so slowly inching his way back to his tower. All it took for him to strive once more, was something worth fighting for. And so, that same pair of twins, beaten, broken, and lost. After years have passed, they had grown distant from one another, lived two different lives, coped in different ways, ran from the world, only to hide from the pain that it brought them. As the gray strands started to streak their flaxen locks, only did they finally return to each other’s side, to accept that they have changed and were back together once more, that brotherly bond still standing true. Two brothers, standing at each other’s side, filling the gaps of time that had been lost.

The fe-Uruk grunted with effort as she swung her legs over the fallen tree, traveling through the jungle was a grueling task normally, but the recent thunderstorms mixed with the sweltering sun to create a truly humid hell. The Uruk’s heavy foot splashed through a creek, scattering the minuscule fish, she paused for a moment, catching her breath as she squatted low and drank from the stream, She could hear the hundreds of birds and insects calling out in the jungle around her, nature's orchestra filling her with with satisfaction and mirth. She felt almost at home among the wild places of the world, her bare feet pounding the earth, wind in her hair, sweat sliding down her skin. Her stomach growled and she stood up, now was not the time for relishing simple pleasures, she had come as a predator, and nature was commanding her to hunt. Trudging from the stone bed of the creek, she climbed the red clay bank and entered the muggy jungle once more, she walked slowly as she carefully measured the nearby trees, finally she spotted a young, sturdy tree, near the thickness of her muscled forearm. With a grin she unslung her hefty war axe, spinning the weapon a few times in her hand before going to work. The steel head bit deep into the green wood, with a hearty thunk. Her scarlet skin stretched over powerful muscles as she felled the tree, and with a contented grunt she sat on a boulder and began her work. The sun was hanging low in the crimson sky, the Uruk hoisted the crude pike over her shoulder. It stood twice as tall as the female did, a sharp point had been cut on one end. The small limbs had been hewed clean, and the tip hardened in a small fire. Now armed with a proper weapon she travelled east through the thorny thicket, and towards the Steppes that bordered her jungle homeland. She climbed over fallen trees, cut her way through thick underbrush, and carefully scaled down limestone cliffs. As walked through the emerald soaked landscape she thought of home, the modest dwelling she had claimed, the warmth of her fireplace, her small but well stocked kitchen, and of her adopted daughter Jenny, a gangly young human, with long tawny hair. She longed for the comfort of the city, yet another more primal part was revealing in the humid scenery. She knew the winter season was coming, and while her home was warm throughout the year, it made hunting and gathering a troublesome prospect. The Uruk was pulled from her thoughts when she stepped to the jungle's edge. In front of her lay a rising full moon, a vast open plain lay before her, with soaring mountains further east. She walked through the waist high grass, letting her hands lightly graze the feathery tops as a tenacious southern wind picked up, causing rippling waves to form among the grass, her hair swishing like a banner or flag in the breeze. Her ears twitched as she heard the distant bellow of her quarry. A deep primal urge began to boil in her blood as she gripped the pike tightly. She headed south along the border of the jungle and the steppe, staying down wind as she began to find more signs of her prey. Immense patches of grass had been torn from the ground, and mammoth piles of dung marked this as the grazing grounds of the Prairie Dulk. She spotted a dust cloud rising further east as the herd moved towards a gorge to bed down for the night. She crouched low and began to move from boulders, to the small sturdy trees that managed to grow in the rocky soil. She knew she had the wind in her favor, all she had to do was get closer to the colossal beasts without being spotted. She slid smoothly to the ground, crawling on her belly as she inched over the crest of a hill. There laid before her was a herd of Dulk, seventeen of them as far as she could tell. A Prairie Dulk was no woodland beast to be brought down with a simple hunting bow, these were the Kings of the Steppes, somewhat comparable in size and shape to the War Rhinos of Uzg, their thick grey fur and rough armor like hide was one of nature's best defenses, while their powerful legs and long ivory horns marked death for any of those who were fools or unlucky. Kuku had to consider her options carefully, the females would be pregnant now, and she didn’t want to upset the balance of nature by taking the life of a yet unborn Dulk; However, fighting one of the young males was asking for a gruesome death, while a heffer Dulk will protect her young even at the expense of her own life, if given the chance she’d retreat to safety so long as her calf was safe, the males on the other hand, seemed to crave fighting, often spending their days battering each other, or trampling a starving wolf into the dust. Suddenly the moon crested the cliffside, and as if the spirits themselves were guiding Kuku, the moon shown upon an elder Dulk, his fur was near stark white, with lengthy scars snaking over his leathery hide, marking him an old warrior of the herd. The female Uruk’s breath caught in her throat, as she knew this elder was meant to battle her, one of them would die a warrior's death this night, she was sure the spirits had brought them together. As if by magic, clouds covered the moon, plunging the Uruk and the Dulk herd in darkness once more. She began a long, treacherous climb down the cliff that encircled the gorge, creeping around the bulk of the herd like a wolf stalking its prey. Finally she drew near the imposing creature, even when laying down the Dulk’s shoulder was taller than the She-Uruk standing, but Kuku pressed on. She could see mighty muscles along his flanks and legs, and obsidian colored hooves that were as wide as her hips, no doubt one blow from them would send any hunter to an agonizing death. She inched forward and came to his almighty head. His amber colored eye watching her closely, the beast, was awake. Kuku swallowed hard as she saw the Elder begin to shift, it’s monstrous form shaking with effort to bring the Dulk up, it had been watching her for some time now, yet it hadn’t alerted the herd. The hair on the back of her neck prickled as the beast rose to its full height and towered over the seven foot tall Uruk. It dipped it’s head low as if in respect and Kuku made a silent albeit urgent prayer to Freygoth, the Uruk Spirit of Nature. With a roar that threatened to deafen the Uruk the beast lifted it’s head, the herd had begun to stir and the young males snorted and rose to their hooves in confusion, not yet aware of the intruder among them. The Elder pawed the earth, ripping small boulders from it, his ebony hooves plowing the earth as he prepared to charge. Kuku hefted the pike from her shoulder, ramming the butt of the crude weapon into the earth to secure it, she leveled the spiked end at the Dulk Elder’s throat and crouched, her left foot placed upon the rammed earth and pike butt to steady it. Her heartbeat pounded in her ears, her blood boiled and hands gripped the rough hewn handle so hard, her red skinned knuckles turned a deep violet shade. She watched the Elder in slow motion, it’s hooves gouging the earth, it’s eyes wild with nature's instinct to kill. She knew today may very well be the day she dies, crushed under those black hooves, or worse yet, impaled upon the torso length horn. She thought of home again, the smokey bar where she spent many a night watching spars in the fighting pits, and drinking with her friends and family. She thought of the many memories made, and prayed to the spirits that she would have more memories left to make. She redoubled her focus as the earth shook, her teeth rattled in her skull, the titantatic mass of fury and muscle was bearing down upon the she-Uruk. The pike slid along the thick fur and toughened hide, she watched with dread as the crude spear tip missed the titan’s neck and impacted it’s right shoulder. The pike bent in the middle as the Elder impaled himself before shattering into splittners, she didn’t have enough time to react as he swung his head, the beast narrowly missed Kuku with it’s horn, though his gigantic head collided with her and sent her hurtling back a few yards, there was a sickening crunch as she landed and she felt a few of her ribs break. She nearly lost control of her bloodlust when the pain washed over her, gritting her teeth she rolled onto her side and pushed herself up into a low crouch. Agony washed over her as she struggled to breath, a trickle of blood spilt down her maroon lips and dripped from her chin, but she had been trained by the best of Krungmar’s warriors, and she pushed the pain into the back of her mind and stood tall once more. Kuku unslung her old friend and the axe’s blade shone dimly in the scattered moonlight. It’s familiar weight and the smooth wooden handle brought her comfort. The earth was trembling once more, the Uruk gripped her weapon tightly and made ready to die. The Elder wheeled around, the end of the pike jutting from it’s shoulder as thick blood slid down it’s furry leg. He puffed great breaths that shook the grass in front of him as he roared another challenge at the Uruk. She rose to her full height, the axe held with both hands as she screamed back at the beast. The two began to run towards each other as the wind picked up once again. There were no thoughts, or memories of home now, her mind was blank as her training and battle instincts took over. Her long muscular legs carried her quickly towards the great monstrosity, she raised her axe high over her shoulder, and at the last moment, twisted expertly away from the gleaming spike. She brought the axe down with a mighty blow, her rippling tendons bulging with effort. Kuku could heard the Elders thigh bone snap as her axe bit deeply into the beasts leg, she could feel the muscle and sinew tearing, the Dulk’s injured leg had given her a small opportunity, the limp had left him open to attack on his side and she exploited it to the fullest. The Elder bellows in pain, unable to stop the forward momentum his head digs a large trench as he crashes to the ground. His herd begins to snort and paw at the earth as they watch their herd member fall. The female Uruk circles the beast, watching as he struggles to stand, she comes to a stop near the Elders head to look in his eye. She can see the distress, and pain in his gaze. He looks away towards his herd and lets out one last thunderous roar, there is a long moment of silence followed by the sounds of the herd moving away from the battle ground, heading towards the high mountains. The Elder breathes deeply one last time, he knows his time on Almaris has come to an end. He had led his herd through many harsh winters, protected them from wolves and hunters, and he could at last find rest. Nature had granted this old Dulk a worthy death. The mighty beast closed his eyes for the last time, and awaited his peace. Kuku raised her axe above her head, praying a thank you to all the spirits, but especially to Freygoth for giving her this successful hunt. She knows that as she takes from nature, she too, will one day return to nature. The axe sinks cleanly into the beast's throat, and the breath eases from it’s lungs. The Female Uruk relishes the feeling of the Elders blood spraying on her, taking a moment to catch her breath. She looks out over the Steppe, the clouds parting once more to reveal a grand grass ocean, and in the far distance lays her jungle homeland. She tugs her axe from the Dulks corpse with a sigh as the blood dries on her skin. Her fight might be over, but there is still much work to do. She thinks to herself with a small smile, the howling of wolves can be heard, carried on the chilling night breeze. ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ Thank you for reading through this short story! I've begun writing again as a way to practice and improve, so criticism is welcomed. I need to state I have the express written permission of Satyrdays to 1) Write about Kuku, 2) Post this to the forums. With that out of the way I also need to state that this story in no way relates to the server, this is just a fun short story about a hunt, it DID NOT happen in roleplay. Thank you once again and I should be posting (Hopefully) One short story a week!

Laconic Fables Bringing life to a story has always been a dream of mine, while in high school and during my career I've learned the best stories are born deep with our hearts. My experience lies simply in what I have done in my free time, whether through roleplay or writing up the story of a character/experience of mine. I am seeking to make a name for myself within the industry, and I will gladly let you tag along! Services (Purchases can be made securely/officially on my website using PayPal) The way I roll is by offering three different packages. Those packages being 500 [25$], 1000 [50$], and 1500+ [100$] word stories. If you seek to purchase a shorter story please contact me on my website, or on discord. I ask you always credit me when showing the work, though if you seek a ghost writer for whatever purpose I can work with you. Have you ever thought of your character performing a great deed, or finishing a challenge? Maybe something bad happened to you in the past, and you always wondered what life would've been like if things went differently. Drafting up a new persona, but can't make an amazing backstory? IF you answered yes to any of these questions, I am here to help! Contact Info Discord: DragoonNuts#3613 Website: www.lacronicfables.com