The Waxen Shore beneath: cursed journey
They say that treasure awaits in the depths of the Jonason city next to the sea. It has been for a time since the first arrivals. Many rumors were written on the pages of time about their fate at the bottom. They were either abandoned as spoils of failed voyages, lost pirates' bounties, or the fund of countless wars forgotten.
Wherever they may have come from, they laid in the unseen sea bellow with no hands to embezzle them. Who had the stomach to make such an attempt? Seeing that lost fortune means wandering in the belly of the shore and its sea, ripe with as many omens as there were potential treasures. Many did not stop to ponder the mass grave of boats, ships, and warships that laid at the rocks and cliffs of the shore's territory gutt…
Hallow Eve's wonder cave
Day 1, 12:00 pm :
Man, writing in my journal like I'm talking to someone is weird. Anyway, I'm Steve--why am I introducing myself to a journal? No, seriously, why am I---ugh.
Anyway, I'm coming to this particular section of town as part of my vacation. My slightly obligatory time off, courtesy of my boss. According to him, being on the verge of collapsing midway through welding is 'unsavory' to the company. I did want to pull extra shifts for the company since that complex partially collapsed. From what I heard, the ground was pudgy. They needed steel and welding, and I had nothing better to do.
Well, I guess he appreciated that bout if I'm getting extra pay for basically doing nothing. I was going to take it easy and laze around home. The im…
Erred purpose
The wind travels the plains, dancing in open spots. It gorges on the emptiness of space surrounded by thick, swamp trees and the slimy liquid that oozes from it. The sun shined without a challenger. No dense foliage. No warping branches. No muddy swamps to slow the traveler.
This particular spot was a rare slice of the jungle, devoid of the usual blemish that would slightly narrow its view. Clear skies. Green grass. Dry grounds. The perfect spot for a cultivator to linger.
It is here that he lingers, his body concealed by errant magic. To look at him was to see nothing but a shifting chameleon cloaked with a jade veil. It shimmers with every movement, too quick for the mundane eye to spot it. Too persistent for even the slight opacity of the…
Sickness of the mind
"Him...I want him." A velvet finger pointed solely at a prisoner interned in a cage of strong, dull iron. Days passed since the advent of the choking violet mists that swept the island.
Its mystic tendrils of formless spice swelled and passed through every crack, every window, every hole. Its formless mass of spicy fragrance tickled every nose it could meet, freezing the bearer in place.
Then came the dark ones, notched in leather and elven forms. Under their dark skins, they came and stole everyone frozen in place. Through the doors, they barged in. Through the windows, they shattered. Through the escape hatches, emergency exits, hidden entrances, nothing was safe, nothing was sacred to those bearing purple hair.
They came for the furthest p…
From slavery to servitude 2: Unsavory picks
The night passes in seconds as it does in hours. Both spans walk alongside each other in George's mind and body. And yet, today as with many mornings, he wakes up aching. The pain was his pre-emptive bird song to stir him awake.
"Eugh...another restless rest". George forces himself up, turned to blame his worn-down bed as the constant culprit to his harsh awakening. A fitting way to remind him of the lash of labor that usually awaited him in the morning. Today, however, is a blessing, as the Sunday allows him respite from the constraints of unfulfilling work.
He straightens up with the thought that it really is Sunday and sighs in relief. One day to walk away from the burns and the aching and the everything between.
He pulls up a coat nearby …