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- High Lord Scribe of Mastered Illuminations

For Next Level: 17362^xp of 74645^xp complete.

17362^xp

Hall of Honour

Golden

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Dungeons | 325^xp

The Town Eater

For three long days the violent storm had ravaged the town of Iolinas, and the townsfolk had begun to wonder if it would ever end. Strangely, towards the end of the third day, the rain stopped suddenly, though the winds still buffetted the town relentlessly; some townsfolk thought it was finally the break in the storm. Others thought it was a portent of worse things to come... These people were correct.

Fields of Flesh

Lavish glade and lush green field,
Wizen'd oaks; to the blight all yield.
Weeping trees of crimson blood,
the Fields of Flesh turn life to mud.
Will you tread and smile and sleep
where devils dance and angels weep?

Scroll of mute

Ever had that oh-so-annoying companion, that just wouldnt shut up? Here is the perfect remedy.

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“ Rakda- These goatlike animals, who have shaggy coats and layers of scales, are good retainers of water. They are close relatives of Suppoki. Their meat is considered a delicacy in many countries. No desert tribesman leaves his settlement without a Rakda.”

CaptainPenguin

“ Basq doesn't exist. He occupies a point in space--a single X,Y,Z point in the Cartesian plane, but he's not made of anything. People looking at him see whatever they want to see. Or what he wants you to see. Usually a mix. Just the same, he cannot be hurt swords or arrows. Only things that deal damage to an area (fireballs, gases) can damage him. Or weapons that can cut through an infinitely small point.”

Forganthus

“ A fragment of letter drifts down to the street. You catch it, and unfold the charred edges. '...know I will always lov.. ..at never dies. It is th... ..f my passion that b... ...nd it cannot be ext.. ....n heaven or....n hel.. ....ill be by you...ide an... ...... ...... yours foreve......... ... Mendates ........ ...................................' Looking up from the fragmented text you glance around at the rooftops. There. A minute snowfall of scraps of letters is cascading from the chimney of a half-timbered house nearby.”

ephemeralstability