kylar5

The Journal of Ferus Windstalker. My name is Ferus “Windstalker” Burdock, and I was born 22nd day in the spring of the year 8611 of the third age, into a working class family in the jungle village. There I lived for 18 years with my mother and father and my siblings, my two older brothers, Dirmirsar and Tessarr and my younger sister, Nesras. We used to weave baskets out of vines and leaves from our plants and trees surrounding us, and then sell them in the markets nearby. We lived in stick and leaf shelters build on stilts and had a large campfire in the centre of our rural community. It was an adequate profession and our family

Tessana. I don’t feel too bad about leaving this group; after all, I haven’t spent too much time with them to get too attached. They’ll be fine. I make my way to the main atrium where the Orc was trapped and turned left, back up the tunnel where we came in from. I get about halfway down the dark passage when I see that the exit is blocked off by some boulders. I know my wind magic won’t be able to shift something that heavy and I’m not strong enough to move them on my own, if I go back and ask the others, they’ll know I’m leaving and probably try to stop me. Sigh. So I sit down with my back to the w

Sharn and Zelusia. Sharn and Zelusia cautiously entered the left tunnel. They were on guard for anymore traps and checked the walls and ceiling with great precision. As they entered the room at the end, Sharn saw a treasure chest, about the size of a small dog, sitting in the corner, the only other feature in the room was another stone pedestal, and Sharn didn’t want to touch one of them again. “Amber would be mad if I didn’t check for any treasure for her.” She smiled as she headed to the box. Zelusia walked over to the opposite side of the room to inspect some scratch marks on the wall. They were long straight line

Tessana and Amber In the tunnel, Tessana and Amber noticed nothing out of the ordinary; it was dark and cold, more broken rocks on the floor and cobwebs in the corners of the floor and ceiling. The two reached the end of the passageway and found nothing but a chest the size of a small boulder, covered in wilting ferns and dust. Amber shrugged and opened the trunk. As she raised the lid, the hinges creaked and the air hissed when escaping. Looking inside, Amber and Tessana discovered it to be empty. The air hissed again, but behind them this time and Tessana frowned; “Air doesn’t hiss.” Amber looked back to where the noise

Group. The party were almost out of Florin’s gates, only to be halted at them by a hooded figure. The robed person beckoned them over to a secluded corner. Cautiously, they obliged. “I hear you’re all going to the ruins of a church in Blackthorn. I know of a shortcut there.” The man croaked, his face hidden by the hood. The party exchanged questioning glances with each other, eventually declining the man. “We’re sorry sir, but we’re heading there our way.” Zelusia determined. With that, the man in the hood skulked back to wherever he came from and the party continued on towards the forest. It

Sharn and Amber The two companions had finally ventured to the town of Florin, in search of Sharn’s old foe Urmug. As the former leader of her tribe, Sharn was resilient and well adapted to long and arduous journeys. Amber on the other hand, was not. She had been imprisoned in a brewery and on a farm to be worked as a slave for half of her life, but she was not used to trekking for days on end and it had taken its toll on her more so. They had traversed across the continent to hunt down the Orc who escaped execution three years prior, and was last heard of stealing the princess’ horses in Wistoria city. From there Sharn had gath