Making One's Mark

They line the rolling foothills betwixt Caernivale and the Mountain Canyon, garbed in their purest white linen, and looking hopefully to the skies. The veteran heretics stand proudly in their aromatic, golden robes, that they too wore for their initiation so long ago, as they watch the ranks of new Dragon Disciples prepare for the ceremony of the Marked.

But, alas they stand in idle wait, while the sun fulfills its trek between the horizons– their would be gods fail yet again to shower them with their auric blessings.

It was not always like this. Not so very long ago, the grand dragon Qalynok'orlahrak roamed freely across the land of Valorn sending his daft prophet Xander before him to round up the merrily innocent and happily naive to join in praise of the scaley, fire-breathed wretch.

Those lucky enough to be found in his favor could rejoice as the dragon did water his followers, as scooter doth water the trees and signposts about Dundee, and from thenceforth, the original recreants stood forever as the Marked, pungent zealots of false deities.

Yet, these days despite the growing number of draconian cultists, there be not a dragon to be seen. And so, the latest batch of devotees standing in pristine garb before the sealed entrance to Qalynok'orlahrak's cave must return to the towns unsoddened by the graces of their scaley lords and without the joyful taste of the ceremonial Kool-Ale on their tongues.

~ Cerberus

Fruitilicious Fetish

Snorting nostrils, shining horns, and hooves striking sparks off the stone walkway convinced me that valor demanded less then discretion did, as I made way to the Shrouded Sun Headquarters and likewise into the head of a stampede.

I've never taken three flights of stairs in one massive leap before, and hope I never repeat the feat– brought new awareness of groups of muscles that can ache.

Following the frantic herd, rising out of the dust, strutted a group of adventurers waving fresh hides over their heads and chanting, "Leather, our gods have given us leather. All praise the mighty ones."

They headed off into the forest well armed with beer to be processed for human supplied tanning fluid and disappeared down the bandit's hole leaving only a pungent aroma to dissipate behind them.

A few marcs later they emerged clad head to toe in newly tooled leather attire. This one had a fine hat, that one waved hands clad in softly mottled gauntlets, another had breeches so tight it was hoped the stitching was enchanter strengthened. They chattered and preened, absolutely enamored with themselves and their fine leather accouterments.

Our gods have indeed given us a new source of leather, but beware greedy ones. The gods may not appreciate this new leather fetish. A touch of leather is fine, but this reporter saw someone clad head to foot in bright yellow stained suede prancing down the main street in Dundee last night.

As you dye that leather and work it remember, Valornian beasts are not color blind. In outfits like that, you look like perambulating Korunga fruit.

~ Alpha Betsoup

The Undead Deek!

Valorn rejoices! The High King is returned to us, a little shaken and weary but in fact seeming more youthful and lively than ever after his ordeal at the hands of the Demon Lord.

Deek had fallen, and his life monument lay shattered. But, the devotion of Elijah and faithful adventurers' tireless searches meet success and a reborn King.

Days were spent trolling the land for missing pieces of Deek's monument and when it was time, Elijah called the nine who had obtained these shards together in the king's personal chamber.

The High Cleric conjured a holy power that brought the nine shards from the hands of those dedicated Nine together in a great flash of blinding light. When the eyes of the adventurers had recovered, they found a man lying semiconscious upon the floor of the chamber.

It was indeed King Deek, restored to life. But such a change he had undergone! No longer had he the white beard and wrinkled visage known so well by all in the land– long golden locks and a youthful face replaced them.

So it was that Monarchy had returned to the land and after being tended to by the Clerics at hand, Deek set out into his Kingdom to give Valornians news of his return and the levying of new taxes!

This Humble Cleric was proud to be amongst those aiding in the resurrection of our glorious leader, and to bear one of the many titles and blessings Elijah graciously rewarded to the Nine at the Temple of Light.

~ Venus Darkmoon

The Fountain of Youth

Since the beginning of time, man has wanted to turn it back. Finally, High King Deek of Valorn has come across the perfect way to do so. His secret? Death!

That's right, you read it here first, death is the secret to eternal youth. Not only is death a true miracle for your appearance, but when compared to having been dead, even the oldest man looks more lively again.

High King Deek was recently brought back from the void by High Cleric Elijah and nine people who bore Life Monument Shards. Deek managed to lose wrinkles, gray hair, and unsightly crow's feet in less than a fortnight during his stay in Cory's Plane. The most expensive creams cannot boast such wonders!

Yes, death truly is the best way to stay in your prime. Our suggestions to old readers who are conscientious about their looks is to just go out and die.

Disclaimer: it would seem our editor killed himself and came back not long ago from Cory's Plane with the same ugly, old scowl as before.

~ Ixon Fier

Un Arôme de Fleur

Danin Stone's 'Lord Ninad' is a provocative piece on obsession. The 'tale within a tale' structure is somewhat loose, and is the weakest part of the whole; the opening section could be given more relevance or cut entirely. Looking past that however, the story proper is a narration with chilling appeal that despite need of some careful editing, demonstrates superior imagery and pace. This is an experience not for reading, but for sharing around a warm fire on a dark night.

~ Fleur