10 May 2024 - Transcribed by Paul Turner
Artist depiction of the underground stairway.
The leaves and branches began to blur as Elara dragged Fwanklin through the forest. A trio of bandits dropped from the trees just before they reached the edge, brandishing swords and daggers with dangerous intent. Elara Taloneye, eyes red and her face cut from the vegetation she pushed past, immediately threw three knives before the men could utter a demand. Two of them dropped dead instantly, while the third managed to crawl to safety with a knife handle sticking out of his left butt meat. Before bleeding out from his injuries, he told his friends of a demon elf with fiery eyes in the woods who ambushed them while carrying off an ugly, mewling child it had kidnapped. Being bandits, no one cared.
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03 May 2024 - Transcribed by Paul Turner
The forest floor was dark save for two beams of light pouring in from where they had broken through the dense canopy. Elara Taloneye sat up and inspected herself for injuries. Finding none, she let out a small sigh of relief before staring up into the light. She waited for a moment, hoping to see the flicker of shadow. When it did not arrive, she deflated.
“How can a bird so large be so blind?” She asked herself.
She knew Ironclaw would likely come if she could reach the treetops. It would be their best chance since he was unlikely to find the exact spot where they fell through. She also knew there would be little chance of him hearing her through the branches and leaves overhead. Her head throbbed, the fall having dazed her more than she would ever admit. Plus, something was missing. She sat for a minute on the forest floor, barraged by the symphony of various animals hacking, retching, or fornicating while she tried to simmer the tempest in her head.
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26 Apr 2024 - Transcribed by Paul Turner
Artist depiction of the Land of Dreams.
Elara Taloneye stood at the edge of a cliff overlooking Spike Trap Fields. The wind blew her shoulder length dark hair, revealing her High Elven ears and fair features save for the jagged scar across her lower lip and chin. She could hear the tribesmen approach and turned to face them.
“Return the idol!” Demanded the man in front as he edged closer and brandished his spear.
“It belongs in a museum,” she called back.
“What? What’s a museum? It’s our sacred dowsing rod! We need it to survive the dry season. You have no claim to it!”
Elara smirked. “Finders keepers, losers. Time to fly!”
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19 Apr 2024 - Transcribed by Paul Turner
Deep in the woods of Crimson Rock Forest National Park and Snack Bar sat a sword from a forgotten age. It was stuck into a stone nearly to the hilt, and despite being open to the elements, it never rusted or displayed any signs of deterioration. The trees around the stone could not permeate it with their roots, so a natural clearing was formed. For the local bird population, it was prime real estate. Middle class robins often dreamed of saving up the worms required to rent it from the thrush owner who bought it early from the local squirrels.
One day, a small cadre of knights entered the clearing. The leader, with a simple crown adorning his head knelt before the stone and wept openly.
“For a lifetime, I have dreamt of this moment,” said the wizened knight. The other two remained on their horses and clasped a hand to their chest as a sign of respect and reverence.
The crowned knight brushed aside the bird nest at the base of the sword, causing a rapturous sound from the birds of the clearing. He took it as a good sign. He took a deep breath and placed his shaking hands around the hilt and pulled.
Nothing happened.
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12 Apr 2024 - Transcribed by Paul Turner
Artist depiction of the view from Mega Monastery’s guest restroom.
On the highest hill overlooking the Urchin Coast in the eastern reaches of Crimson Rock sat an ostentatious monastery. The monastery, known as Mega Monastery, was known far and wide because it maintained the largest and best preserved archive in the known world. Because of this, many scholars and researchers travelled far and wide to become an acolyte of the church. They proudly walked up the winding stone steps which always gave the impression that it had something to prove by how many twists and turns it took to reach the top. Several people died while traversing the steps due to the lack of railing coupled with vigorous conversation.
The clergyman who ran Mega Monastery, Father Wyland, was well loved in the region. He often bragged about how He used to be an acolyte himself and loved to regale listeners of His times doing the noble and godly work of transcribing new copies of ancient volumes. Those acolytes toiled far below the surface, away from the prying light of the sun. As they have for hundreds of years.
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