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Hello Epic!
Long time ago, I have been thinking about being "super", but, as we all know, we can't. I have been a bit frustrated about how we, humans, are at the top of the food chain but we're the weakest.

I just came to my senses that why can't I be the character I want to be in my imagination?

There was once a night I thought about what I was thinking. I was under a full red blood moon, not until I realized it was. Then there, I had lots and lots of thoughts.
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Under the wire
A goodnight to the long night in the underdark
That undertaking finally laid to rest
We strode and strove against all
Until the ground was made sacred
And our passage was marked




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Death Sleep
Solera looks at the petrified statues of the former adventuring party with sadness. How long have they stood here in this cavern, the former Gorgimera’s lair, deep below the earth? She stands still, gazing upon these stony forms, the blood still dripping down her twin blades to pool at her feet.

Her heart aches for them. These were people once. Before they were so horrifically transformed. People like her. Is this death, she wonders. Or is it more like sleep, their souls suspended and frozen somewhere in that stone? And if it is like sleep, do they dream? She knows that there are spells capable of restoring such petrified figures to life, and this suggests that they are not dead. Are they aware of her watching them now? She shudders at that possibility. How horrifying to be trapped in an immobile prison of stone forever and to be aware of every excruciating second passing by.

If only she could help them, but alas she does not know the spells capable of freeing these poor souls.
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Flossin's big journey
After finding The Book of Amazing Spells and setting fire to the library, Flossin fled Lankhmar. He left a quick note for family, and headed south. He ventured to Quarmall, city of wizards. There he consulted the learned sorcerers and mages of the city. The book turned out to be more of a hoax than a tome of power. He was told that most of the spells within were of minimal power or written incorrectly. Crestfallen, Flossin decided to stay in the city to learn spellcasting.

Flossin studied with the wizards in Quarmall for the year, learning white magic, herbology, and how to release a possessed spirit without destroying it.

While living in Quarmall, he had a brief love affair with a fellow member of the sorcery guild. Her name was Evelyn, a petite woman of similar age, with Mingol features. Flossin initially captured her interest by growing a new type of lotus flower. Unfortunately, things ended a few months later due to intermittent "performance" issues. Flossin eventually returned to Lankhmar when he ran low on money.

A friend of his from Quarmall, a dark-skinned young man from Klesh, named Umberto, accompanied Flossin. Umberto is also interested in plants, and he and Flossin opened a small greenhouse/flower shop in Lankhmar. Umberto is interested in seeing the strangeness of Lankhmar, but also keeps trying to marry Flossin off to one of his sisters (he has seven.)
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Go Go Gorgimera!
Smoke still hangs heavy in the cavern where they slew the Gorgimera. The beast lies still now, black blood yet pumping from the horrible wound where Valindra’s twin barbs drove deep into its chest and heart. She feels sickened looking upon its fallen form. An abomination, likely born of magical experimentation and not the natural world, the monstrosities stands as an affront to all her sensibilities.

She looks upon the stone statues, adventurers like herself no doubt, petrified by the beast’s foul eldritch breath. They strongly suspects that these are the very adventurers who proceeded them here, the doomed bloody bastards of whom the Pech spoke and who failed to stop the bugbears from summoning the Demon Mother.

One of the stony forms in particular catches her eye, a grugatch female like herself. A warrior, frozen for eternity in an agonous pose, great sword held aloft in two hands. The stonework of this once living statue subtly reveals the eldritch tattoos spiraling along the figure’s arms, revealing her as a sorceress as well as a warrior. Something about her strikes Valindra as indescribably compelling, as though there is a kinship between them running deeper than racial affinity. She can sense it, but cannot name it. It is as if they have both sprung from the same well of creation. She knows that all life springs from the hand of the Leaf Lord, but it is almost as if the same creative breath has breathed them both into existence.

After long moments of contemplation, she lays her hand upon the figure’s stony cheek and whispers a quiet prayer.
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