Writing-for-the-soul

Gathered friends, listen to the legend of the Great Spirit. Before time, there was nothing, nothing but shadows and darkness, then a spark within the blackest of night, a light shone brighter than any star, any universe, and within that light, the heart of life started to beat. The Great Spirit moulded the shadows and dust, creating his children, naming them the Tohonger and bestowing them two gifts, one of knowledge and the other, an island, their home that its denizens named Mor'randar in his honour. The world was a joyous place, but there was something that the Great Spirit did not intend; his Dark Spirit brother Kin'Jaden followed him to his paradise and seeing what his brother had done, wanting to be worshipped, he gifted his children with the power of destruction. Horrified at such things, they rejected his gifts and enraged at this, Kin'Jaden struck the islanders with a curse and plagued the land with monsters and wicked beasts. Mor'randar tried to stop his brother's

Out—out are the lights—out all! And, over each quivering form, The curtain, a funeral pall, Comes down with the rush of a storm, While the angels, all pallid and wan, Uprising, unveiling, affirm That the play is the tragedy, “Man,” And its hero, the Conqueror Worm. -Edgar Allan Poe God loves his children, that’s why he kills them… -Radiohead Chapter 0 Ethan had forgotten how much he hated the sound of the news on the radio. It crackled to life and took him away from a pleasant enough dream of watching himself sleep soundly with a girl he didn’t know. And then came the blaring crackle to shatter his small comfortable reality and send him crashing down into consciousness. Some smooth talker was speaking about the weather, moving into the news of the robberies plaguing the niceish side of town; Ethan sat up and put his head in his hands wishing he could stop the clock for a bit, but he looked to it and pressed the off on the alarm swearing when he saw it was six

Within the northern lands of the world of Wyndroth, in the shadow of the spire mountains lies the city of Dusknier. A grand but gray city of great markets, and ancient mage towers, where all sorts of people rub elbows underneath the constant gray sky. Dusknier is a place of magic, a grand mage academy is here, and many hedge sorcerers ply their trade. It is a place of diversity and of new cultural expressions, all sorts stay here, elves, orcs, dwarves, halflings and stranger beings inhabit the city. It is often a place of acceptance through indifference, all sorts are welcome here, as long as they don’t expect a warm welcome. Though even basic acceptance is not always afforded to some. It is a beautiful and cold city; it stands like a castle of ice, open to all if they can brave the chill. It is here we find the story of Lucian Crane… In a back alley that had known rain and all the soddeness it brings for a week straight now, a young boy hid behind a rotting pile of wood. He was

Deep in the night, when the wet streets are silent, and the last ride at Wonderland amusement park has ground to a halt, I, Howard Brandt, wander Maple City’s dark alleys and surrounding parks. The brighter a city seems in the day, the deeper the nighttime shadows. My mother, Meredith Cross, the Maple City Police Chief, wore this lifestyle on her sleeve. She tirelessly chased after the various bandits, criminals, and low-lifes in Maple City. She was the shining and determined activist during the day. But at night, she brought home her dead-end frustrations of escaped criminals and justice unserved to abuse me in a drunken stupor throughout my childhood. You better never grow up to be one more of those good-for-nothings on the street, she would tell me between swigs of her beer. Those moments are probably why my score on the psych-evaluations test flopped when I tried to get into the Maple Police Academy. I tried twice, I even lied on it, and never made it in. Mom told me I’d never

Today I’m having my lunch out on the grounds of Night Raven College. In the distance, the towering castle’s dark towers and high peaks never fails to stir a little fear in me. But, my curiosity grows each time as I wonder what I might learn while studying here. Grim sleeps nearby, sunning himself on a rock. His belly is in the air, and his pitch-fork shaped tail waves back and forth. I begin to pick up my notes and pack up to return for my afternoon class. “Hey, Y/N! Where do you think you’re going?” two students from Octavinelle shout as they approach me. They walk with a cool swagger, their dapper jackets laid over their shoulders. “Are those notes from potions today?” “Yes, they are,” I answer, somewhat timidly. The students at Night Raven are often up to no good thanks to their villain-inflicted souls. “What do you want? I have to go to class,” I say. “We want your notes,” one boy says with a sneer. “No, I need them for the test,” I answer. “Can’t we take a peek? Hand them