Hello, i thought it might be fun if there was this big realm and each of us could contribute to it a little. That means that each of us could create some sort of a folktale that is based on this realm without actually writing to much about the realm itself. More about heroics that have found place here.
It would be nice if all of you contributed Have fun.



The story of old Ilias.


A dark storm was brooding over the coast of Nightgate.
Small droplets of rain landed in the face of Ilias Dread, an old and grey man that slowly watched the last years of his life slip away in solitutede after he was banished from the kingdom of Noir. Ilias turned his back towards the high cliffs and away from the view of the red ocean to walk into the door to his small shack made from wood that had started to rot in several places and it had not turned out to be a very good shelter against the cold nights here in Nightgate. He coughed and poured himself a mug of tea with which he sat down on the rug in front of his small tv set.
The many fruits of his adventures were gathered around him reminding him of the youth that had forsaken him many years ago. The hero who was loved amongst people and locked in the hearts of many elder was reduced to this pathetic bag of bones with a cold and a sore back.
The skull of a liondor he had fought in the mountains of Palendril looked at him with his hollow sockets, the liondor and he had grown old togheter. Once the beast was strong and feared by many people, but now the noble beast was also reduced to a shadow of its former self. Many a lonely night had Ilias spend amongst his trophees that now gave him nothing but sorrow. The memmories were the worst, he was once afraid of death but it now seemed like a comforting blanket that would protect him from life and all its miseries.
A scream in the night woke him up from his slumber and seemed to lure him outside into the darkness and density of the forest that surrounded his sorry excuse for a house.
The old man took his sword Meándark that had been his closest companion trough many journeys and headed out into the coldness of the night.
A plead for help held him to a stop as soon as he had set foot into the forest, a short path led to the west and he could see a young woman lying on the ground covered in blood, crying at the top of her lungs. The wind howled, playing its seranede of loneliness that was heard trough the lands of Nightgate. The diabolical head of a beast so gruesome that he looked as if hell had kept him in its womb for nine months appeard in front of the old man.
Fear grabbed old Ilias by the troath and he had to fight against this sensation. The grip around the shaft of his sword tightend and he raised it above his head just as the beast was about to strike with one of its razorsharp claws.
The sharp blade of Meándark cleft the beast in two and a disgusting substanced oozed from its wound before it fell on the ground and the red glow in its eyes seemed to faded away.
Ilias looked at his victim and the victim of its foul foe lying on the ground, bleeding, mortified. He walked over to her and stroked her soft cheek, comforting her.
Ilias had saved the life of this young maiden and had freed the land of one more foul doombringer. His life had purpose again, the storm calmed down and Nightgate had lost a little bit of its darkness tonight.







Ps. I wrote this in five minutes and it probably shows, but i was just trying to create an example