It was on a sun-soaked afternoon when the mountains trembled under an unfamiliar roar, not unlike thunder if thunder could growl. The roar was stretched thin, humming through the trees and catching in the leaves like stubborn rain. Marlowe Grint, an avowed collector of myths and searcher after ancient whispers, dropped his teacup upon hearing … Read more
In the days when the shadows whispered more deeply and the wind sang with the voices of the old, there existed an ancient temple, shrouded in vines and the weight of time. This temple lay forgotten, nestled in the heart of a slumbering forest, where the trees were so tall and thick, they seemed to … Read more
At the edge of the Endworld’s map, where old parchment ceases to be reliable, and where cartographers shake their heads and sigh, is the Fire Mountain. It stands alone against a backdrop of eternal night, the sky only occasionally flickering in shades of stormy purple and somber orange. The locals call it Olk’Syr—roughly translating to … Read more
On the third day of the tempest, at the cusp of a time-soaked midnight, a colossal bolt of violet lightning speared from the roaring heart of the storm, striking an almost forgotten corner of Miss Martha’s garden. Insignificant to most, that corner held a solitary, rare blue creeper nestled against a peculiar stone arch, cobwebbed … Read more
In the molten depths of the world, where the earth whispers secrets of fire, there lived the last dwarf named Durin. His home was built in the shadow of a rumbling volcano, where lava flowed like the rivers of yore and the stones were always warm to the touch. Durin was not just a dwarf; … Read more
In the depth of the world there was a forest, not like our dear dark greens dotted with daisies and dusted with dew, but a forest fierce and hot, where the trees bled red like wounds in the earth, and the air shimmered with heat and secrets. This place was aptly named the Crimson Forest … Read more
In the Village of Brethdale, where the leering mountains gnash their teeth against the morose sky, there came each autumn a harvest like no other. Pumpkins swelled, as if fattening on the moonlight, their skins pulling taut with whispers from the shadows. Apples blushed with thievery, having stolen fire from the sunset. Corn husks rustled … Read more
Deep in the cradle of the Felhorn Mountains, buried beneath hallowed ground and twisted thorns, throbbed the Stone Heart. Not flesh, not blood, but ancient stone aglow with dusk’s deepest carmine—a hum vibrated through the cavernous ribs of the mountain, almost a whisper, almost a pulse. The heart held secrets and sang silent songs, causing … Read more
Once upon a time, as such tales invariably begin, the Birchwood was a place of whispered leaves and dappled sunlight, where sprites danced and foxes held court in their own sly way. It was a forest where shadows played at being solid and where the wind carried stories worth hearing. But then, as is often … Read more
In the heart of the endless sands, where the wind spoke in whispers and the moon hummed lullabies, there walked a man named Ambrose. He was a seeker of treasures lost and legends half-forgotten,, a collector of stories that the world thought it dreamed. On one such dream, a wine-soaked sailor had once told Ambrose … Read more