TheGallivanter93

      Gillian the Crimson, Archmagician and Wizard of the Order of Seven--Gill the Red, for short--materialized mystically out of the thick fog near the appropriately-named, foggy marshland town of Fogmarsh.      Fogmarsh was large enough in terms of both area and population to have all of the necessities (inn, general store, blacksmith, cemetery, modest marketplace) as well as some fun unnecessities (library, town drunk, a-little-big-for-its-britches marketplace, sandwich chain).      Narrowing down, Sonn Sehnson and Sons Incredibly General Store had been managed by the Sehnsons for two generations, followed by a period of ownership by the

    The High Arcanist’s wrists were manacled as he was walked into the throne room by an escort of the king’s Honor Guard.  Such precautions were a formality, of course.  What use were shackles on someone whose will could call storms and dismantle castle walls?  What use was an escort on someone whose voice could terrify wildfires and put feral beasts to sleep?    Such questions were at the front of the minds of the gathered masses, whispered from person to person as the High Arcanist was led up the center aisle to meet his fate.  A baker’s husband asked perhaps the most perplexing question to a daughter of the White Moth s

Oot stretched his arms as he left his hut on the mountain, longing for the days when he had wings. While the halo of Dursa was made of heated iron, the halo of Romo was pure glass. The people of the Grey Wastes, upon finding the skeletons of dead gods, built their cities within them and fashioned nearly unbreakable tools out of small shards of the massive bones. As he climbed the rock formation, Tar-Erok of the Tanmaru couldn't help but think of the risk he was taking meeting with his true love: Kyra, a blood priestess of the Aotari. It was a tactic of sky pirates in the region to blast airships out of the sky in a barrage of dragons' bre

"Hello, my name is Jay, and I have superpowers." Everybody.  "Hi, Jay." Group leader, very smiley.  "Hello, Jay!  You're new to the group, and first-time participants are usually people who are new to their powers and/or have gotten into a bit of trouble.  Is it one or both of those scenarios, or something else?" Pause for three seconds, look at thumbs, and commence twiddling.  "Actually, I've known about my powers for about three years now, and so far, I think I've done a half-decent job of staying out of trouble."  A couple people out of the twenty-three catch on immediately, and shift uncomfortably in their seats.  Villains in the group

He sat on a marble throne, an ancient man on an ancient seat, in an ancient castle, in an ancient city.  His eyes were closed, just as they had been for centuries.  His hair was long and white, and his beard cascaded past his navel.  He wore a white robe, stitched with ornate details fit for a king, which clung to his almost skeletal frame. Above his brow hung a gold crown: three birds--an owl, an eagle, and a raven--overlapping wings. The throne room was adorned with tall stained-glass windows, which cast a variety of colors of light upon the bones and armor of dozens of soldiers who were willing to give their lives to protect their king.