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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05 Apr 2024 - Transcribed by Paul Turner
Tim the dark elf Drow was nearing the end of his teens. Third puberty had yet to set in, so he held out hope that his current lanky form would not be his last. His hair, though long and fair against his dark skin, was permanently greasy. This greasiness led to pimples and scarring across his face. When they were large enough, the other kids would call him “Twenty-Eyes.” That is, when they were not calling him “Fuckface,” or “Drow-bow-wow.” He was not entirely sure if that last one was an insult or not, but it felt demeaning either way. Tim sighed.
He was depressed. His family had been cast out of the Underlands of Crimson Rock the year before for being deemed too nice during the Drow Council’s Evil Audit of Evilry. His father had committed the heinous act of suggesting the city implement a recycling program instead of just throwing everything into the Under-Underlands via the giant pit on the outskirts of town.
They barely made it out with their lives.
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29 Mar 2024 - Transcribed by Paul Turner
Artist depiction of the Northern Crimson Rock Mountains.
Far in the hills away from the hustle and bustle of the main roads of the war torn nation of Crimson Rock, there resided a clan of orcs. They lived an idyllic life. Crushing trees, crushing stones, and crushing the bones of any hunters who wandered too close to the village. It was a time of peace.
Which is exactly why Tork hated it.
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