Kalopsia_Thelonius the Wizard_Daffodils Aren’t For Eating_Yeah, Merlin. You Know, From IT
Catalog Guide:
Kalopsia
The liquid glass fell like stars from orbit, shining an eerie red while burning its way through the atmosphere. Cooling just before reaching the surface and for one brief moment, turning clear and reflecting the light of the iridescent moon of Kalamtrwww.onedoor.ccon like prisms and shining out like an aurora borealis. Then the solid hardened glass would slam into the ground and shatter into a hundred thousand shards, sounding like mirrors being broken, over and over again.Then when the blue sun of Galestrom rose, the splinters of the clear bubbled substance would shrink and dissipate, overheated by the lig...
Thelonius the Wizard
Thelonius was a humble wizard, scribe, and record keeper for King Jarret the 2nd, the king of the kingdom of Rowandale; a humble kingdom nestled between a forest and a range of mountains that bordered the neighboring province. Thelonius took great pride in his personal library of Spells, Alchemical Recipes, Maps, and Transitions of all Royal Affairs and Processions, scrolls instructing how to turn rocks into meat, scrolls instructing how to control the direction of the wind, you name it. The Alchemical Recipes and Spells were kept and sorted meticulously, if one scroll was in the wrong place, ...
Daffodils Aren’t For Eating
“Okay listen up, most of you know the rules” My uncle Clyde’s voice booms. He used to be an auctioneer so his loud and fast paced voice is perfect for this role. “But I’ll go over it for a couple of the new faces we got here today.” I look around to spot my roommate and friends from college, my niece, a few of my cousins I haven’t seen for a while and other faces who seem familiar but I can’t quite identify. “First, you’ve all been given an envelope with a clue to the items you’ll have to find.” His loud voice wakes me up from my pondering of how the most random set of people I know ended up i...
Yeah, Merlin. You Know, From IT
The importance of wellies in the wet, boggy English countryside could not be understated in Maren’s opinion. Especially if red with yellow butterflies, she thought, shaking off a clump of mud from the heel. She only made it a few steps away from the tour bus before she stepped into a sinking, muddy mess. She scowled, muttering in a tempered Scottish brogue,“Oh, you are kiddin’ me,”Her nephew-- the reason for this excursion to the middle of nowhere Glastonbury-- burst into peals of laughter. Maren buried a smile underneath a facade of grumpiness. “Think tha’s funny, do ya?” He responded with a...