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Cutting through the jungle ferns and vines with her knife, Faldrin nearly crawled her way through the most dense jungle areas of Opej'nor. She made a good effort to avoid its most dangerous denizens, and scared away one of its oversized vipers with a fire show before it would get too close. Even as the terrain in front of her seemed impenetrable she kept going, her survival knife occasionally blazing with flames to help her carve a path in the thick vegetation. Her mind set on one direction, she cared little what she had to do to reach her destination. Even when the island would push her back in a last attempt to stop her she would reply with a flurry of jagged ice, opening a hole within the swaying, dark green wall big enough for her to jump into, not looking at the fall that awaited her below. And as she recovered, with a hand rubbing on her battered head, her bright green glowing eyes landed upon the image of her dreams. An uncharacteristic entrance, reminiscent of Thalassian architecture, disguising a cave going into the depths of the earth. To each side of the faux gate lied an anchor and a hammer, crossed to bar her way in. She prepared to muster her little strength and push them aside, but as she set her hands on each of the items they moved to let her pass. Unrelenting, she marched forward. "Moras?" The cave floor was as soft as the jungle. The walls were wide, and tightened around her with every step forward into the increasing darkness. "Moras?!" Her shoulderpads grazed on edges of rock and moss. Her hands and feet navigated through unfriendly territory, avoiding bumps and holes that could further injure her. "-Beoveld-!" A faint light at the end of the corridor shone upon a figure, donning green and gold armour, still partly shrouded by darkness. To the approaching Sin'dorei, it opened its arms. "Faldrin. I knew you'd come and find me." With little hesitation, she stepped forward. Her own arms spread to reflect his gesture. "As I promised I would." The figure stood still. The pristine metal nearly sparkled, contrasting with its surroundings, a lighthouse welcoming lost ships into the harbour. "We are reunited. Let us set sail once more, together, away from this cursed island. As captain and first mate." Faldrin stopped a few steps away from the Judge. She stared into the darkness covering his eyes, and she smiled. "You are wrong." Bringing her arms together only to sweep them upwards, she conjured three ice lances which burrow themselves into Moras' body, sinking themselves into his chest with ease. "You are not Moras. I will only join him!" Blood began to coat the spikes poking out of his body, completely still and nonreactive to the physical punishment it withstood. The man smiled, and the corners of his lips kept expanding outwards. "You will join me. In life or in death." His smile widens into a grin, and his grin expands into a maw. Slowly, his face now revealed by a light turned violet, strains as it is ripped into half, the tear splitting his head as an amalgam of blood and tentacles pours out with a deafening, guttural scream. The armour breaks off, the skin of his body peeling off alongside it, a naked body of the darkest of magics revealing itself to the nearly paralysed elf. The grotesque mass of tentacles, claws and ever-expanding void matter sheds its guise and envelops the cavern, surrounding the elf and approaching her from all directions. "You have no friends, no home, no safety. Your actions led you to your failure. What did you hope to achieve by coming here, into my trap?" As its monstrous voice shook the cavern, she stood still. Her expression was unmoving, as if frozen in place by her will or by the abomination toying with her past. "You will never escape this island. You will never redeem yourself. You have no hope, Faldrin Duskgale." Her arms slowly lifted up. As the creature roared, lashing out its myriad of limbs against her frail form, her visage would move. "You. Are. Wrong." With the wail of a banshee, her arms extended outwards, her eyes shining brightly blue and repelling the darkness of her foe. As the void reached out to strike her down it could not touch her. It could only retract, shrivelling from a frozen advance that cut sharp and bit harder. With a scream the darkness receded in an instant, leaving nothing but a glacier where it once stood. The fiend from below was defeated, with only one small price to pay. In Faldrin's mind, devoured by the void long before they met, there was peace. Beyond it, in the realm of the sane and the material, her frozen form was lost in the jungle, untouched by the elements and all living creatures, a permanent reminder to beware dreams and voices that will lure the unwary into a fate worse than hers.

(This is also my goodbye to Unknown Shores. I am not one for theatrics or drama, but I needed to send out one last peaceful message to those few who have been with me throughout this journey, most of which left before I have. Faldrin is now a frozen statue somewhere in the jungle, victim to a sea of illusions, and perhaps someone will meet her again. As will I in the future.)

Personally I've always enjoyed subverting long held morals as well. I explored it with Fzhuzhem, having him justify his actions to druids by playing off the personality of nature. For those unaware nature is an incredibly generous force, some good study material that can be consumed in a matter of minutes would be the children's book "The Giving Tree" in which the tree gives everything to this boy as he grows up simply because he asks. Nature will always sacrifice itself for druids simply because they call upon it. Every druid spell uses their own personal energy and/or the energy of life around them. It's why despite game mechanics druidic resurrection is incredibly immoral to them. You have to kill a lot of stuff that wasn't past it's time to save one person that was. Fzhuzhem justified himself to druids by telling them that nature was caring and kind but was taken advantage of by all the races of the world. Sprawling cities where forests were, factories belching toxic fumes and spilling waste water into the environment, and that the Nightmare, which is part of the dream (thanks old gods) was the way nature would finally fight back. I wanted to explore why a Nightmare Druid becomes a Nightmare Druid. When you're told that Nightmare is just another way life can take shale and that a Nightmare world would restore nature to it's rightful state, it can become appealing. The other thing I wanted to work on afterwards, and still may if I return, was The Icon, who got some screen time before I made the call to resign before I burned out. The Icon was meant to be a powerful and mysterious living artifact of Holy power that case judgement on those it interacted with using a very black and white methodology. As the story would develop he would become a powerful ally to those he found righteous but become more and more difficult to work with given his refusal to aid those he did not see worthy of the light's grace. Even possibly becoming dangerous. The yin to Fzhuzhem's yang. Where Fzhu justified evil as good (I mean he didn't really need to justify it to himself, he was just fucking with druids) he would refuse to justify his actions at all despite them not being the most ethical means to conduct himself. A good support NPC should blur the lines of what is good and bad if they're powerful because they have less reliance on others. They don't have to make sense to people that can't help them, instead they should have people deal with the difficult choices of altering themselves or keeping up appearances for that person. There should also be contingencies that the DM plans for in an OOC manner that can help aid the players against plot elements in existing stories but isn't necessarily broadcast to players, such as the goblin space program allocating assets to provide a mortar strike against Fzhuzhem in the final battle. I saw a lot of people think outside the box and that was good but I also saw a lot of people try to improve their own power and story relevance rather than work their character into the environment and attempt to find aid where it already existed. There needs to be a considerable amount of that. Also lots of naked hotties.

Name: Gratha Race: Orc Age: 28 Class: Shaman Affiliation: Dragonmaw Clan, Grom'goshar Although stunted in stature, Gratha possesses the semblance of a capable fighter with sturdy shoulders and a vigorous posture. Her thick black mane is decorated with a plethora of minuscule braids, and various clan-related trinkets. A pair of glowing amber eyes bring warmth to her grey features, that most often bear marks of battle in various forms. An outlandish tempest filled the air with unbearable pressure in the Twilight Highlands. A lone Shaman scaled down the mountains with what seemed like crawling pace, eyes directed to the slithering path ahead. The havoc that was slowing her down was wrought by those loyal to the Old Gods, and were now tearing land and skies apart. Howling of the wind and the unspoken threats of the blackened forest below deafened the Dragonmaw from everything else. It was the mistake she made, trusting to her hearing over other senses, and in a heartbeat she was off the cliff, followed by a trail of flames by her winged challenger. * I was falling, falling from a great height. Nothing would stop me and there was roaring black air all around me as I was plunging through it. I heard myself call out for the elements, a desperate shriek in the thick of the living storm. I woke with a violent lurch and laid winded against a cluster of rocks, torn fabric and sand was caught to my rough features. I had no memory of what happened. I scrabbled in my brain, but it was blank - an empty cavern, no echoes. Nothing. I tried to think of the last day I clearly remembered, but it was like looking into an impenetrable mist, with indistinct shapes looming. I possess the ability to call the elements to my aid, but as I laid here, I could feel nothing familiar surrounding me. Perhaps I had wronged the elements, demanded their aid to bring me here alive. The seawater was burning at my damaged body, prompting me to stop reminiscing and to focus on my survival, and to soothe the agitated elements. * Stranded, the scrawny Shaman began to make her way further away from the shore. Having never communicated with an ally other than a Dragonmaw, she had no faith in finding anything but hostility from where she now was. With that belligerent mindset, she ventured on. OOC: If anyone has found errors, please tell, my english is not the most fluent. Other feedback is also most welcome.