A people touched by the wicked power of the majiks and forged in the precious womb of the earth- the journey of a scribesmith is threefold. They must ascend Witch-Cap Mountain and meditate above the sullen clouds to invoke their inner majiks. If they survive, they are thrust into a solo trek across the unknown borders in any direction, with heart as compass, in search of their unique eternal gem and its keeper - the wood or metal that represents their physical form. Once bonded, they will smith their soul artifact within the wild forges of their inner majiks.
About the Creator
Conner Carpenter
Mountain born; soul sheathed in a deep lake. Conner enjoys watching the world around him, smashing it and forging new creations.
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Tynnin's Monocle
Nothing exceptional yet truly extraordinary. That is how it always went with Tynnin. Caught up in daydreams and bored of the present, he searched for meaning in the past so that he could live for the future. An archeologist by trade, he branded himself a relic hunter and rightly so. Every child had heard stories of ancient lost treasures and ceremonial tomes imbued with magics -capable of wonderous things not known in nature and scattered around the globe- but very few had ever encountered even one of such things. Tynnin was part of the exclusive list. Yet he had more than a few devices in his dusty dwelling that was filled from the floorboards to the star-carved ceiling with archaic trinkets. He had an affinity for the old metals and the leatherbound. Some were benign and some spectacular. His petrified bristlecone pine desk was littered with pages covered in ancient text. It is believed that this desk of elder wood was struck by lightning as it was cut down, twisting life back into it with a wisdom born of time still emanating from it. The walls that weren't covered in books were home to the ever-increasing pile of treasures he had gathered all across the world during his 55 years of adventure. It wouldn't be a stretch to say that it should have taken twice as long to learn, travel and gather so many trinkets for any one person. Deciphering glyphs and runic symbols alone were a painstaking process. Tynnin's dark, sunken-in-eyes sitting on sags of skin more wrinkled than his trusty leather satchel told that story better than words could. Yet he still held a lovely bit of youth to his tired body.
By Conner Carpenter3 years ago in Fiction
A Love Forboding
The chipped stone slope caused unbearable footing. I slid, skirting on my heels. I cast my shield, relinquishing my guard to stay upright. Left with my double-edge and a prayer to the maker, I skated toward my objective. The earthly stubble gave way to solid ground. I found myself restored, a trail of dust in my wake.
By James U. Rizzi5 days ago in Fiction
THE WEIGHT OF A DIAMOND
The harbour was at its most generous that night. Light spilled across the water in long, trembling ribbons, the city glittering as though it had dressed itself expressly for us. Champagne rose in pale, frantic bubbles, glasses refilled before they were empty, before desire had time to cool.
By Leeza-Bridget Cooper7 days ago in Fiction
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