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- Mild Lordship of Inking Pens

For Next Level: 195^xp of 1535^xp complete.

195^xp

Faye Delivour

Faye was born into the ocupation of elvish warrior

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“ The forests, the swamps, the lands lost to wilderness, fang, and willow. These lands are home to the creatures of wiing, tooth and claw. Some far more capable of fending off the hominids, others still, are less fortunate, falling prey to spears, arrows, and dogs. As the hominids encroach upon the sacred woodlands and miry bogs there are times that the thorns and vines are animated by the spirit of the land in order to fight. In this way the mysterious guardians are formed. In the shapes of wolves, bears, and many other greater and more terrible beasts, each with eyes of glowing emerald. Fiercely defending creatures of burrow and glade.”

Woofer295

“ The heroes are travelling the great seas by ship. One night when the seas are calm and everything seems fine their vessel is eaten by a great whale. The end? No. They wake in the belly of the animal, it is like a great cave. Full of wrecked ships and strange things to be discovered. Will they make it out alive?”

Michael Jotne Slayer

“ 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.”

Murometz