“Nothing changes us like time.”
Robin’s youth had an interestingly duality.
On the one hand Robin grew up as an apprentice to a clock maker. Clocks require the utmost of precision in their craftsmanship, which is only possible through the nascent advancement of machined tools. It takes well over a decade to learn even the rudimentary elements of repair and assembling a clock is a work unto itself. Additionally since the only potential customers for such a luxury item are the wealthy, clock makers are in constant need of outdoing each other with grand artistry to curry the business of such clientele.
Robin’s life in outside of the shop did not match such grandeur. His apprenticeship earned him no income, only the promise of future wealth. On days he did not starve, he begged for food. When he did not beg he stole. His daytime hours were spent toiling on wondrous items for those who wanted for nothing. The rest of his life a series of desperate moments wanting for even the most basic of things. Surviving however he could as he awaited the promise of his own success far in the future.
That future, like so many others, was destroyed in dragon fire. The world soon shared his desperation for something as simple as food to eat. The thief who hoped to someday rise above his crimes was forced to embrace the skills he wanted to let go. For the only alternative was a languishing death in a world being destroyed.
Nobody who crossed the sea in these lands did not do so without loss. But in the case of Robin Stalinski, what he lost was a past he swore to abandon in any case. Dangerous and unknown as the new shore was it held the promise of new life. Time forced upon him to suddenly be a new person. Even if not the life he envisioned and worked for.
Consider this, reader; that most recently young Robin took the Mountain ranges. With the grip of hunger gone, and the pain of homelessness taken away he sought out hardships where the stone scrapes the sky to test his mettle and improve his capability for this dangerous world. That his days now are spent practicing the healing arts. Putting together the flesh and bone of mortals instead of the metal and gears of clockwork.
For even in the most disastrous of times can mortals become something new and better when time forces them forward into a new life.
“To think of the future, is to see through the past.”
A great deal separated Ahsre from her family growing up.
From her father she was separated by the time he did not give her. From her mother-in-law she was kept at a distance by her cordial and painful politeness. There was a specific place they wanted Ahsre to be in; one of high learning, etiquette, and success as can be measured by social standards.
This is a very different place from where her birth mother was, or so she was told. For she never was able to meet her mother. Ashre’s mother was a talented and brave warrior. A place that a lady of society should not be in. Thusly the distance of social shame kept her mother at such a distance that the only way for her to be connected to her daughter was through the tales Ahsre was able to hear growing up.
As youth was cast off over the years so did the bits of polite and cultured White Elf regalia. Ahsre learned to use her grace with a spinning weapon. Her wisdom turned to the assessment of challenges. And her grace applied to maintaining her ideals in a harsh world she chose for herself.
Though her blood mother was at the greatest of distances away from her she was still able to help shape her daughter’s decisions of what was right and what she wanted. Even if she was never anything more than a story.
Now, reader, you may hear this same story; that against a world filled with danger and evil stands a white elf with blade in hand. She knows not what she must do. Only that she must do something. She does not know how she will accomplish this. She knows it is up to her to find out how. On the other side of her fears and doubts, using what she has learned, is the distance she wants to cross. Even if she was told she shouldn’t.
It is a familiar tale, but it is a new character.
“It is worth knowing how a scarred face can smile.”
There is no mistaking the sight of Kaeldir Manye.
When New Haven marched through a portal into the realm of the fae, Kaeldir’s form was distinct; shield and spear in hand, armor of beaten iron, cloth covering her damaged eye and black woads drawn across her brow and streaked down like anger and mourning. Though her fellow travellers were in an other worldly place haunted by fell things they had with them Havenheart Clan’s Stormbringer.
When the fae attacked, red and haunted, Kaeldir fell upon them, roaring battle cries and striking with gruesome efficiency. She stalked about to find her enemies and when they struck back, she dashed their efforts upon her red and white shield. Everyone who fought saw her take the terror head on, spurring them to find in themselves what they needed to strike with her.
Before they made their way into the portal everyone had seen and heard Kaeldir. She walked with easy swagger, she boasted, laughed and guffawed loudly. In the stillness of day or night she still stalked around, seeking out a different sort of foe; the silence and doubts in others.
In the different light of the fae wild though, she was fierce and fearsome. Terror and example both. Until the creatures were driven back and she stood there in victory and stillness.
Make no mistake though reader; nobody sees anything of Kaeldir that she does not wish. She stands like a sentinel. She laughs like a friend. But one does not get past her shield or her jokes, for they are well practiced.
Is there tragedy behind this? Most likely. But if you are not meant to see what is hers and hers alone, then take great head in what she does wish you to see. Her past is not for you.
All people want to go to heaven because nothing any place better than heaven. First, you should follow the instructions of God in it 123helpme.com review than you try to follow it.
Robin Stalinski
The Turning of Clocks
“Nothing changes us like time.” Robin’s youth had an interestingly duality.
On the one hand Robin grew up as an apprentice to a clock maker. Clocks require the utmost of precision in their craftsmanship, which is only possible through the nascent advancement of machined tools. It takes well over a decade to learn even the rudimentary elements of repair and assembling a clock is a work unto itself. Additionally since the only potential customers for such a luxury item are the wealthy, clock makers are in constant need of outdoing each other with grand artistry to curry the business of such clientele.
Robin’s life in outside of the shop did not match such grandeur. His apprenticeship earned him no income, only the promise of future wealth. On days he did not starve, he begged for food. When he did not beg he stole. His daytime hours were spent toiling on wondrous items for those who wanted for nothing. The rest of his life a series of desperate moments wanting for even the most basic of things. Surviving however he could as he awaited the promise of his own success far in the future.
That future, like so many others, was destroyed in dragon fire. The world soon shared his desperation for something as simple as food to eat. The thief who hoped to someday rise above his crimes was forced to embrace the skills he wanted to let go. For the only alternative was a languishing death in a world being destroyed.
Nobody who crossed the sea in these lands did not do so without loss. But in the case of Robin Stalinski, what he lost was a past he swore to abandon in any case. Dangerous and unknown as the new shore was it held the promise of new life. Time forced upon him to suddenly be a new person. Even if not the life he envisioned and worked for.
Consider this, reader; that most recently young Robin took the Mountain ranges. With the grip of hunger gone, and the pain of homelessness taken away he sought out hardships where the stone scrapes the sky to test his mettle and improve his capability for this dangerous world. That his days now are spent practicing the healing arts. Putting together the flesh and bone of mortals instead of the metal and gears of clockwork.
For even in the most disastrous of times can mortals become something new and better when time forces them forward into a new life.
Ahsre Porphyus
Daughter of Stories
“To think of the future, is to see through the past.”
A great deal separated Ahsre from her family growing up. From her father she was separated by the time he did not give her. From her mother-in-law she was kept at a distance by her cordial and painful politeness. There was a specific place they wanted Ahsre to be in; one of high learning, etiquette, and success as can be measured by social standards.
This is a very different place from where her birth mother was, or so she was told. For she never was able to meet her mother. Ashre’s mother was a talented and brave warrior. A place that a lady of society should not be in. Thusly the distance of social shame kept her mother at such a distance that the only way for her to be connected to her daughter was through the tales Ahsre was able to hear growing up.
As youth was cast off over the years so did the bits of polite and cultured White Elf regalia. Ahsre learned to use her grace with a spinning weapon. Her wisdom turned to the assessment of challenges. And her grace applied to maintaining her ideals in a harsh world she chose for herself. Though her blood mother was at the greatest of distances away from her she was still able to help shape her daughter’s decisions of what was right and what she wanted. Even if she was never anything more than a story.
Now, reader, you may hear this same story; that against a world filled with danger and evil stands a white elf with blade in hand. She knows not what she must do. Only that she must do something. She does not know how she will accomplish this. She knows it is up to her to find out how. On the other side of her fears and doubts, using what she has learned, is the distance she wants to cross. Even if she was told she shouldn’t. It is a familiar tale, but it is a new character.
Garren Ulfghar
Wrath and Joy
“Our worst enemies are the ones we help create.”
Cast down in pits of gore and shame The cruel design of demon’s games
They sought to write his fate in blood
In deep despair and depths of mud
A devil needs more than death alone
For torment and fear will build its throne
The priest did fight. His own flock pit
Against each other, or else forfeit
The lives of family held as threat
And slaughtered when related met
Their end from those they, until then
Called neighbors, family, kin and friend
You need not know what Garren saw
Know only that within the maw
Of your own mind this chance exists
You too are called into the pits
If hell desires and demons seek
Your soul a prize to break when weak Reject he did the chance to fall
Instead with fury he did call
For fire to burn in heart and thought
Refusing grief instead he fought
And even now he smiles when grim
His vengeance no longer just for him
There is no craft hell hath employ
Can stay him from his Wrath and Joy
Kaeldir Italrilde Manye
That Which We See
“It is worth knowing how a scarred face can smile.”
There is no mistaking the sight of Kaeldir Manye.
When New Haven marched through a portal into the realm of the fae, Kaeldir’s form was distinct; shield and spear in hand, armor of beaten iron, cloth covering her damaged eye and black woads drawn across her brow and streaked down like anger and mourning. Though her fellow travellers were in an other worldly place haunted by fell things they had with them Havenheart Clan’s Stormbringer.
When the fae attacked, red and haunted, Kaeldir fell upon them, roaring battle cries and striking with gruesome efficiency. She stalked about to find her enemies and when they struck back, she dashed their efforts upon her red and white shield. Everyone who fought saw her take the terror head on, spurring them to find in themselves what they needed to strike with her. Before they made their way into the portal everyone had seen and heard Kaeldir. She walked with easy swagger, she boasted, laughed and guffawed loudly. In the stillness of day or night she still stalked around, seeking out a different sort of foe; the silence and doubts in others. In the different light of the fae wild though, she was fierce and fearsome. Terror and example both. Until the creatures were driven back and she stood there in victory and stillness. Make no mistake though reader; nobody sees anything of Kaeldir that she does not wish. She stands like a sentinel. She laughs like a friend. But one does not get past her shield or her jokes, for they are well practiced. Is there tragedy behind this? Most likely. But if you are not meant to see what is hers and hers alone, then take great head in what she does wish you to see. Her past is not for you.
But her laughter and shield are.
All people want to go to heaven because nothing any place better than heaven. First, you should follow the instructions of God in it 123helpme.com review than you try to follow it.