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Literature[Stygians] SquickShock: Making Sweetie Tod[QUEST: HALLOW-002 - WORDS: 1779] “I’m late! I’m late!! I’m late for a very important date!!! I’m late I’m late I’m late - oh, train, won’t you please wait!!” Poor Baer. Late for the train again, wasn’t he? He couldn’t help it!! Really and truly! It’s hard to catch a ride as a mini in the Nightmare Realm. He was just too small for most passers-by to see, and his little legs couldn’t keep up! Hence why he was racing down a station platform that seemed to curve, warp and bend into oblivion, frantically squeaking for it to stop or at least slow down as he chased after the Last Chance. “Wait for meeeeeeee!!!” But what was precious lil’ Baer doing here all by himself? Why, he was here for the play, of course! A most magnificent and marvellous play full of thrills, spills and chills! The Last Chance was THE place to be for concerts that were absolutely out of this world; it blew Baer’s mind to be in the thick of it, swept along by the wave while he grooved with his little harmonica.Literature{YVVO} Love Is Letting Go“Zem luna, teim luna.” “Zem Luna, ve teim a.” The last passenger has disembarked. Though the ferryman waves farewell, they are already gone. As he glides down the river the only thing rising to greet him is his shimmering reflection. Skimming past perilous reefs, snatched from the gnashing jaws of death with just a touch - is he alone? He can count the Yevatem who hailed him down today on one hand. He does not blame them. Few teskavtlejem dare travel the selerved this way. On a craft so light, down a route so precarious, and with naught but a single guide? Who would go on such a ratetvoitlej voyage? Who, indeed? But there are always those who will need the ferryman. They must go on, they must. The hasty, the desperate, and the dubious who it is best not to question. And a smiling ferryman is better than going alone. For only the ferryman knows the way of the selerved, and there are plenty of ways an unsuspecting traveller might sink into the embrace of Ai Matia, as theLiterature[Stygians] Hacksmith[QUEST: DREAM-007 - WORDS: 497] Once again DJ Ricochet made her weekly night travels to the Balamtam Plains, journeying to the ancient smithy in order to unearth its secrets and discover what happened to the blacksmiths of the realm. This time she found out the truth. But not nearly in a way she’d like. Even from a long way off, there was something about the smithy Rico found… Unsettling. She couldn’t quite put her finger on it but whereas the hearth glowed invitingly for her before, it now screamed for her to stay away. It was quiet… Too quiet. The ramshackle blacksmith’s hut had always kept up a faint yet resolute puff of smoke, the bellows well-stoked and the fire burning cheerfully as it hoped one day someone could bring back its ancestral secrets. But now there was nothing. And worse, TamTam and BlamBlam were nowhere in sight. What gives? Inexplicably, inextricably - maddeningly, even - the Antitos Market got there first. It would be wise for Rico to do someLiterature[Stygians] Forged From Madness[QUEST: DREAM-007 - WORDS: 297] Though Ryunwa had never had much of a taste for combat - it infinitely preferred endless tea parties instead - it could not hurt to peruse a forge and see what might be offered. After all, one can never have too many tea-things. By all accounts except Ryunwa’s, the forge itself appeared to be an ordinary forge. Why not? Well, how could you expect anything short of extraordinary from the Child of Mayhem? And what’s more, this smithy seemed to be juuuuust a little too big for them… Or should I say: at least ten times their size. In the middle of nowhere, a large vat sat filled to the brim with molten, bubbling liquid of some sort. Clearly it was on the verge of tipping; precarious as it was, sooner or later it would tip one way or the other. So what did Ryunwa do? That most checkered of alloys, can you hear its call? Rivers of glass crying tears tempered with steel You’ll find it in your dreams but never on the night shift Laughing in the red-hotLiterature[TWWM] MyceliaClose your eyes and think of a fairy ring. What do you see? When I tell people to close their eyes and think of fairy rings, they never get the chance to utter a single word; before they themselves know it, their faces tell all. I do not need to know what a fairy ring is, of course, for I have seen and known far more than they ever will. But I so dearly love to see their emotions overcome them. No two are ever alike. It is truly a sight to behold. Before little children can run and get their Enid Blyton books, wonder clasps them by ruddy cheeks and chin, mouths falling open in awe. A voice of spun silk and gossamer whispers an invitation to a tea party. Those who know are nodding before they can stop themselves - somber with the knowledge of the Fair Folk’s warnings, yet unable to resist being enthralled. Bewitching, is it not? What do you think of when you think of fairy rings? Hurry, hurry, for spring is hastening round the corner and soon the fairy rings will erupt once more inLiterature[TWWM] Chapter One: Lost Beneath The Canopy The one where Eos makes a friend. In which Relic has many questions. They say that somewhere there is an old, old forest, one whose name can only be spoken in a primordial language and has been forgotten by the tongues of mortals. They say that somewhere in that forest the air grows crisp and clear while the line between mortality and godhood blurs like a careless artist’s smudge of paint across a pristine white canvas. They say that somewhere in that forest lives its self-appointed guardian, caring for its safe haven while the true power of the wild slumbers, and that if you ever see it you are doomed to never set foot in the outsi