Ryla is the mermaid queen. She is regal and just and does her best to make sure her people are happy, healthy and safe. Some of her haters say that she is too compassionate and that she can’t rule because of her deep empathy for the people. But, in all honesty, she is probably one of the most fair and kind rulers they have ever had.  Ryla doesn’t play favorites and often times will treat the noble class the same way she treats the commoners. This angers some of the nobles, but the commoners think she is the best they’ve ever had.

Queen Ryla has blonde hair with shining, happy blue eyes. Her tail is gold and very shimmery. She usually wears fine shells and an aquatic cape to signify her status as queen. Her crown is golden with blue gems. Her cape is embroidered and made from very fine fabric. She is often very smiley and has a kind expression most of the time. Outwardly she doesn’t get mad, but you may see her eyes blaze briefly if she is faced with intolerant individuals.

Kyla doesn’t venture out of the underwater metropolis very often. She is usually pent up in the castle or out in the general city doing official royal business. But when she is allowed outside of the city limits and has a break. She enjoys swimming with the sea horses or catching up with the dolphins. She doesn’t go to the surface often and instead chooses to stay in the company of other aquatic creatures.

by TheGermanTaco

by Kippie

by toxicdos

by Crow

by Kippie

by [@Shepherd]

From the Sacred Tree formed a small Kelph flower. Upon its bloom, a flood swept through Mycena, washing the flower to the pond. As it floated, it grew. Eventually it opened its eye, and from its spot in the pond it could observe all the Mycenians in the world around him.

He could see people swimming happily, though no one dares to near him, as many fear him and his all-seeing eye. He could also see people on their way to forage, or to make deals in the bazaar. His favourite was watching people fish from the pond, and what treasures they would bring in.

One day however, the treasure one particular Mycenian managed to fish out was in fact, him. Started, he opened his eyes and blinked at his capturer. This caused them to shout in surprise, stumble backwards and promptly drop him back in the pond. He knew the Pond was where he belonged.

When he grew up, he became known as the Monster Factory Kelph of the pond. Some say they’ve seen him; however most normal people think it’s a myth. After all, there can’t be a monster lurking in the pond. Right?

At the base of the Sacred Tree, a new flower bloomed. It sparkled and danced in the sunlight, happy to feel the sun rays upon it’s petals. It’s almost as if it knew how pretty it looked as it basked in the sun.

As it bathed in the sun, the flower grew and grew. It continued growing until one day it blossomed into a beautiful small Drasilis baby. It looked like a child of the sun; her beauty was truly blinding.

She thrived in the sun; her long hair flowed down by her feet. Her coat shined brightly, and was immaculate. As the sun set however, her energy slowly drained. The more she bathed in the sun during the day, the more energy she had to spare for the night. It is almost as though she runs on solar power.

As she grows, she manages to deal with her limitations. She makes the most of the sunlight while it’s still there, and she doesn’t push herself too far at night. She truly is a child of the sun.

A small swirl of wind picked up by the sacred tree. It went on for a few minutes, and was truly mesmerising. Dirt was picked up and twirled around in the air. As time went on, a streak of purple joined the swirl of dust, eventually turning the entire miniature hurricane purple. When it finally settled, a small flower remained by the base of the tree, where the swirl of dust had been forming. A new baby was born and blooming at the sacred tree.

When the baby eventually grew, it was apparent that she was not an angel child. She was a mess; everywhere she went left destruction and chaos. She moved so quickly, it was impossible to tame her. She could not stay in one spot, but wherever she moved left a trail of destruction. This made it easy to track her, but impossible to clean up after.

As she grew, the chaos became much larger and more apparent. She was the epitome of chaos; unkempt hair and fur, trails of unorganised paper left behind her, and she was constantly frazzled and running back and forth to pick up things she’d dropped or forgotten. She is slowly working on it, however as a hurricane baby it is not difficult to see that this is simply in her nature.

Kippie

As a small flower, Metias was striking. His petals were very strong, unmoving, almost as if they were made of metal. As he bloomed into an ineki, he was a striking black with a metallic silver design on his fur. He held a matching shield, and had a short black hairstyle.

Metias likes to keep to himself. He is rather mysterious, and not many people get to know him very well. However, he is also very protective of those around him. He could possibly be described as a misfit superhero. He never interacts with anyone, but always likes to keep everyone safe.

His protective nature can lead him into trouble, and he does get into fights quite often. As a result, he’s become quite a good fighter, however he mostly uses his shield to protect himself. Even so, he does have some scars from his many fights, though they are not very noticeable. It adds to his mysterious appearance, and makes him even more striking to look at.

Akemi’s parents weren’t the richest sort of folks. They were humble farmers, serving the Imperial Family the best they could. They never considered themselves special, until they had their first child. Akemi was born on a snowy winter night, and her parents knew she was different from the moment they laid their eyes on her. Akemi was a beautiful baby, but not quite human. A pair of pure white crane wings fluttered on her back as she breathed softly.

Turns out, raising a child blessed by the Crane turned out to be mighty difficult. On her fifth birthday, Akemi’s parents decided it would be best to send the child to a monastery, in hopes she would find a better life there. Akemi did indeed flourish in this asylum, but not in the way her parents had hoped. The monks cut off all connections between Akemi and her family, telling the young child her parents died long ago. No one knew about Akemi’s blessings, besides her and the head monk. He often told her they were a curse, and many times she tried to cut the wings from her shoulders. It was no use. They grew back each time, just as perfect as they were before.

Despite Akemi’s difficulties as a child, she grew up to be very beautiful, and extremely talented with both her sword and her intellect. She begins to think about life outside the monastery, about the largest cities, and deepest oceans. Her entire life changes the day a cloaked stranger comes to Akemi’s window late in the night, offering salvation from the monastery.

by Kippie

Raven had not always been her name, but it was suitable for the time being. The world would rise and fall, she would ebb and flow out of it. The cycle would begin anew and it would end, all the while she would do what her Spirit demanded. As a Paragon, it was her duty to follow the wishes of her charge. The Hawk had created her and a twin, her brother gifted in strength and her with magic. He had met with oblivion early, killed by other Spirits out of vengeance during the second Feast. Raven had been more clever, but that was not where the name had come from. It was more simple than that, humans had great imaginations at time, but could often name things by their vision alone. Her hair was pitch black, falling in waves down her back, a striking feature to go with her red eyes. The hair caught attention first and so she was called for it. It mattered not, named died as easily as the world itself. She would outlive any name.

by Kippie

Some men are warriors, foolhearty and wreckless, charging into battle. Some men knew the reason why young men go to war. Some men, like the one who changed Markus’ life, would say “it’s <I>fun</I>.”

Markus found no fun in wars or battle. Markus was born a coward and would have perhaps died one. A fishing village did not build men brave in war, it breed them to hold respect for nature and the power men could not fight. His village was not extraordinary, nor would it ever even make it onto a map. Markus had wanted to be like Ambrose, he had wanted to face anything with the boundless confidence of his friend.

When he reached for the sword, the dragon stirred. His hands shook and her grabbed the hilt, pulling it towards his chest. He looked and the dragon’s eyes looked back at him. Markus’ mouth opened, but no noise escaped.

“That blade comes with a price,” spoke the dragon, sneering and distant, “what part of yourself would you give up, for it’s strength?”

Markus’ eyes watered, but his expression was that of determination and anger.

“Some of everything,” said the fisherman and the dragon deemed it a worthy price.

(slow beginning, cheerful but with little strumming)

In weary skies and tinted lights
The children flock to gawk
At billowed tents and heaven-sents
The best show on the block!

The strongman with his strength abound
With feats so great they cheer!
Guests unaware, they sit and stare
As wallets disappear…

(Much faster and more chaotic sound! Still bright and cheerful!)

A thief runs wild, a thief is met
By no resistance here
This is his home, he’s free to roam
In this odd atmosphere

A shadowed mask is nothing but
Another guise to don
Each actor wears their own affairs
Masks simply pile upon!

The deft hand sweeps back and forth
To take the crowd’s earned wealth
A pocket of cash from someone’s stash
Unequalled in his stealth

Whenever his eyes meet the crowd’s
He offers friendly smiles
Mocking foolery, stealing jewelry
Whistling all the while

(Last verse’s melody is repeated but with whistles)
(Strumming slows down and chords are now plucked)

And so the thief retreats in peace
The sunset in his wake
A carnival’s base is the perfect place
For someone…
(plucked chord)
who lives to take

(whistling verse is repeated, slowly. Instruments drop out near the ending)

Deep in the forest, there lives an elven warrior. His name is Jerro the Hero of the Elves, but most just call him Jerro. He is known throughout the forest for his bravery, wit, kindness and saving the elven kingdom. While everyone now knows him as their hero, that’s not how Jerro started out. This is the story of how Jerro began.

Jerro was the youngest of eight sons. His parents lived on the outskirts of the elven dwelling place. He was small, scrawny and had soft, green eyes. His older brothers taunted that he would never be a warrior, and he wasn’t good with animals, or farming or any of that. But Jerro was determined. He wanted to be a warrior, so that is what he set out to be.
When it was time for him to start his Quest for Knowledge (essentially what we would know as school), Jerro was ready to be a warrior. He had whittled himself a pointy stick that was his trusty sword, he had a pot lid as his shield, and a hand-me-down pack from an older brother. Inside his pack, he put a couple containers of a muddy “healing potions” that he had made out of water and anything else he could get his hands on. When he arrived, his fellow questers mocked him. Surely someone as small and scrawny as Jerro would never make a fine warrior. It made Jerro sad when his brothers and his questmates made fun of him, but he wouldn’t let this get him down. He would be the best warrior they had ever seen!

For Jerro was not strong and bold, but he was cunning and fast. In time, he learned how to wield a bow and arrow and how to use his small, narrow stature to fight better with a sword and shield. Jerro had a dream, and he achieved it, but he had to discover how to use his skills to make his dream come true.

Sweet Koi by [@Shepherd]

The sun was setting over a field of wildflowers when the sprout appeared, the colors in the field faded as the sprout came to life appearing instead in the sprout growing among the branches of the Sacred Tree. This sprout, eagerly awaited by its parents, seems to glow in the dimming light of the cave. As the moonlight begins to filter through the cave ceiling a trio of ineki approach the tree, following the trail of flowers to it’s Origin. It had been love at first sight for the three of them, a Blue Banded Bee, a Briers of Rose, and a Lilly of the Valley, and they had been hoping for a sprout of their own almost from the start. They hesitated slightly as they saw the flower among the branches of the tree, could this really be for them? It felt right but could that just be their hope clouding their judgement? The Blue Banded Bee shook his head, no. This was their flower. The start of the trail had been in their garden, who else could the flower belong to? He led the other two up the Sacred Tree to the Sprout where they began their vigil for when it would finally bloom into their long awaited child.

The presence of fog dulls one’s senses. First comes lack of sight, one can only see what is a few feet in front of them. The rest is shrouded by the fog, hidden, mere figures in the fog while a few selective objects can be spotted with the naked eye. Take bright blue luminescent mushrooms for example – tiny blue points of light that pierce through the fog.

The sense of smell is dampened. The fog is deceitful, masking scents and making them seem as if they are closer or farther than they actually are, or causing one to point their head in the wrong direction. The sense of hearing is also reduced and one is deceived, with noises appearing to come farther away than they actually are. Provided that a hunter knows their way through the fog, they can very easily sneak up on their unsuspecting prey.

Not only are senses dulled but the sudden appearance of fog is menacing. To many, it is the indication that something evil is present, lurking just behind the cloak of mist and waiting, calculating, preparing to strike.

Beware the fog.

“What does it mean?” The words, spoken in the stark silence of the church, were almost a shock despite their obviously hesitant tone. “To be a knight.”

Jerked out of his thoughts, Lucien glanced over to the young boy in the aisle—a squire who looked scared out of his life, staring at him wordlessly in wait of an answer. He was probably new, if the way he fidgeted in his tunic was any indication. Most masters quickly beat into their squires the importance of remaining composed and calm at all times. It was a basic tenet of being a knight; if one couldn’t accomplish that as a mere squire, they might as well give up.

Lucien had never really liked how strict most knights had to be to their squires. Then again, that was why he hadn’t taken one of his own. Repressing a sigh, Lucien patted the space next to him, not saying a word until the boy had seated himself.

Even then, Lucien wasn’t entirely sure what the boy wanted him to say. He supposed it was only right for a boy that young to expect that a knight would have all the answers; he’d probably thought the same when he was that age. But now…

Well, now he was actually a knight, but he didn’t have any more answers than before.

“You know the knightly vows, don’t you, squire?” Lucien tilted his head slightly, indicating the knight’s cross at the forefront of the church, flanked by the kingdom’s blue banners. Sunset light filtered through the stained glass windows, dyeing the cross a thousand colours and illuminating the words etched along it.

“To fight with honour, to defend all people, to protect our kingdom against all evils,” the boy answered promptly. “To be guardians of valour, deliverers of justice, sentinels whose most holy purpose shall bring light to this world.”

The words the boy recited so glibly almost made Lucien laugh, a bitter reminder of days long past when he had so eagerly believed the same. Instead, he merely bowed his head, a movement that would probably be taken for reverence.

But really, he just didn’t want to look at the cross anymore.

“Did I say them right?” The boy was still staring at him with wide, innocent eyes. Lucien didn’t look back. His hand clenched tightly on his knee, as if remembering the weight and grip of his blade instead. The heft of his sword had become the most familiar sensation in the world, paired with the sounds of metal against metal, metal against flesh, the smell of blood and death—

Lucien forcibly wrenched his mind away from the memories, closing his eyes briefly to recollect himself. He had come here to reaffirm his faith, not doubt himself even more. The boy’s recitation of the vows should only be a further reminder.

Fight. Defend. Protect.

“Yes.”

Even though he wasn’t looking straight at him, Lucien could all but see the way the boy lit up, as though he’d been given the answers to the world. He hadn’t done a thing; the boy obviously had his own ideas about what it was like to be a knight, and Lucien had shown the boy his own beliefs. That was all. Nothing he had done was worthy of the sheer respect and admiration he could feel in the squire’s gaze.

“Remember the vows,” he said, his voice barely perceptible even in the silence. From the vigorous way the boy nodded, though, he’d heard them just fine.

“Yes! Thank you, Sir Knight. I—” The boy’s voice faltered for a moment, but then he continued. “I saw my master crying earlier today. H-he said it wasn’t worthwhile being a knight. That it was a terrible burden. But that’s not true, is it?” The boy paused expectantly then, but thankfully, he simply carried on when Lucien failed to reply. “I’ll be a knight someday. I’ll protect the kingdom, and my friends and family, and everyone else! Just like you, Sir Knight. Thank you.”

Lucien couldn’t bring himself to say anything else in the face of the boy’s bright happiness. Gone were his fear and hesitation—he looked elated, jubilant, as though the world had been handed to him just like that. The boy sketched another quick, hasty bow before scrambling away, all but running down the church aisle.

Lucien heard the boy’s footsteps fade away, and the heavy silence settled over him again. Breathing out an audible sigh now that he was alone again, Lucien let his shoulders slump, squeezing his eyes shut.

“What does it mean?” he repeated quietly. “To be a knight.”

There was no reply.