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- High Lord Scribe of Mastered Illuminations

For Next Level: 23325^xp of 74645^xp complete.

23325^xp

Julian and Romiette

Two young nobles, enmity between their families. Where have we seen this before?

- RANDOM

Plots | 57^xp

Of divine Life and Death

Is it liberation or conquest? Humane thought or wanton deicide?
A malicious ploy to make the divine starve?

- RANDOM

Items | 110^xp

Child-Eyed Fluffy

Another scary child's toy...

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“ I know basilisks are immune to the gaze of other basilisks, but imagine if they weren't. Like the panda they would become ecologically unviable and endangered... There are two large stones on the thinly wooded hillside above Tiringan. It is said that two basilisks surprised each other many years ago and fell in love at first sight. They also turned to stone at first sight. A local legend of star-crossed lizards: very moving.”

ephemeralstability

“ The Red Lipstick - almost blood dark, this lipstick changes to become the perfect shade of red for the woman, and only woman, wearing it. She will attract positive attention from men, and will be the subject of female envy, for who else has such perfectly red lips?”

Scrasamax

“ 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