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Morningstar
August 19, 2015
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Errantry    Systems  (Societal/ Cultural)   (General)

"Absent gods, here's another bunch of them," Chav drawled, irritation in her voice.

"I hear them," I grunted, shifting my back against the tree to find a more comfortable angle. Well, I'd heard the horses' clopping, any how. I opened a single eye, and sure enough, Chav was right. Four of them this time, green as grass. You wonder if they really thought wearing brown homespun tunics and trousers were going to fool anyone into thinking they were Just Folks ... while riding Sadasian stallions and those gorgeous tooled Mithlantri saddles.

Unfortunately, they also heard us. The chickling at their head spurred over to us, and raised her arm in salute to me. "Captain? My name is Amberstar. We heard in Redwave that one of the orc columns were headed this way." She grinned at me with her cheeks puffed out like a bleeding squirrel. "We want to help!"

Joy and rapture unbounded.

Morningstar

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The Place of Black Snow

       By: Murometz

Wytchwolde-Under-Ash, once a great Thorpe, was razed to the ground by the ruthless, and truth told more than slightly deranged, Porcelain Princess and her henchmen, the Purifiers. When the flames had at last subsided, and a kaleidoscope of swirling, dull-gray ash choked the sky, nine hundred acres of old growth iron spruce, black larch and weeping birch, was burned to utter cinders, along with the entire coven of witches comprising the Sisterhood of the Silver Teat.

Now, centuries later, the forests are somewhat re-grown, and the town of Foolswater stands where Wytchwolde-Under-Ash once did. It is said that even to this day, one can still find ashes in the otherwise potable well-water of this village. Once a year during the Winter Solstice, the “Ash-Wind” comes to Foolswater, a suffocating black cloud that passes quickly but leaves dead birds and animals in its wake, darkening the trees, and staining the sky with black snow. The inhabitants of the village know better than to be caught outside during the day-long Ash-Wind. Everyone is locked snugly inside, singing old hymns that curse and re-curse the burned witches who once called this place home.

Ideas  ( Locations ) | October 18, 2013 | View | UpVote 4xp


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