Zimo Coldfire the Woodland Provider for the Temple of Thirteen

Skill List

Role

Chapter 5

Why fight for what is lost? Loyal and inspiring friends like
Nkgeh, or the whole world for that matter...

Maybe it's loss that allows us to fight. Maybe loss gives
us the only good reason.

Role

Chapter 4

Stuck?

Explore exciting new places!

In a rut?

Theres a wild world put there!

Wondering what lyes beyond city walls?

Its waiting for you!

**A crude but artful depiction of a heavily-shaded, pointy-eared face in the
foreground-left, pointing away toward an idyllic mountain-shaded valley. The
far rocky slopes are dotted with cloudy hints of foliage and perhaps the
sparkle of phosphorescent ink**

Walk the deep wilds with expert woodsmen and spelunkers! Experts in the field

of Fields!

All are welcome, and violence is rare!

With training, study, and a miniscule donation, chocolate accepted for gold,
a small donation to the War Orphans Benevolent Society of Upper Cragstone,
you too can become a mighty ranger!

See Zimo Coldfire, Explorer Extraordinare.

In the tiniest possilble script: Death is in the eye of the beholder, no life

is guaranteed, and you are responsible fir your own actions when on said trek

Scribed in bloodroot on a piece of birch bark by Enomdrac Telemmaite

Role

Chapter 3

Dead. Again. And back here, wherever here is.

As you mightve surmised from my last letter, the magical chronoblast sent me
into Theras past. Now it seems that every time I die I wind up here, in this
colorless space between 'now' and 'then'. Dont weep for me, reader, there
are worse fates. At least when I wake up this time Im reasonably sure Ill
be in the same year, in roughly the same body.

After that first letter I woke up in the old world, alone, and a little
nihilistic. Life as a city guard seemed pointless, useless, if I wanted to
protect people from our fate. Training, and a healthy new obsession with
cold-weather survival, keeps me occupied as I seek communion with that
whispered voice, the ancient tree. My quest has been a success so far, closer
than most of this era to Her grace, but it isnt over.

Im even praying again, hoping that the wisest sage of the immortals will
bless me with the answers I seek, or power I need, to defeat my enemies.
Maybe theyre the same thing. After that first death I realized I wanted more
meaning in my life than any one calling could offer. The philosophers and
other witty fools who claimed to know the minds of the gods never interested
me... then I died. And got stuck here. A new perspective always excited me,
but now wondering 'why?' at everything consumes my idle hours, and sends me
into adventures and conversations unrelated to the war. Much to my delight.

After I put this pen down Im going back into the stream, willingly. I still
don't know If I have a choice or not, but for now it doesn't matter. Im
aiming for a spot somewhere between melancholy regret and amused curiosity,
or between 'then' and 'now'. Until next time. If there is a next time.

Role

Chapter 2

One city remained. Once a mecca of order and power, hidden from destruction
by tall mountains and old magic, the city was evacuated in the early days of
the war. It became a garrison and magical armory, but the front was always
somewhere else, and it soon lost strategic importance. After a while the
various armies stopped drawing it into maps, to save time. Eventually, the
entire city was lost. A skeleton crew of city guards stayed behind to protect
the wand vaults. Some starved as the rations ran out. Some jumped from the
high walls. One survived. I survived, because I knew how to hunt, find water,
stay warm. I was lucky.

I was the last of my company. For a long time I sat alone in the stony tomb
that was once a city, listening to soft pops coming from the direction of the
vaults. Complex warding circles used to keep the wands stable, keep all that
mana trapped inside. No longer. The explosions continued, got louder, then
the foundation of the building gave out. As the floors crashed together one
ancient wand sparked another, and the chain reaction grew into a fireball I
glimpsed for but an instant. I looked down, and the rage of a million dragons
danced through my cloak.

In that instant I heard a whisper, and felt the conflagration as warm breath
on my cheek.

Youre the last one, the last mortal left. A throaty laugh. Better luck
next time.

And then I was here.

...

For all the worlds:

Sitting alone, nowhere, one with infinity...
Waiting without time until, suddenly, I see a tree.

Of course its my home, as it used to be, leaves drawn in pervasive mist.
I think surrender would be bliss,
And memory pulls me into the Abyss.

She is green and warm,
The beauty reborn,
Upon her impossibly young face.

I sit alone, everywhere, and prepare to leave this place.

Role

Chapter 1

Im writing this down because I wont be back. Im writing even though no one
I loved or ever will love will read it. Its painful enough, flying backwards
through the ages like some magical missile to this place, let alone reliving
unimaginable tragedy, but its important. In this... non-space of un-being,
between worlds, Im feeling generous... connected. Like the spirits must
feel. Maybe.

Also, I happened to bring a pen. This is Theras epitaph, fellow traveler.

My world was destroyed, will be destroyed, by mortal hands. A war, the last
war, killed us all... the specifics once seemed important, but I dont know
how much time I have left...

Suffice to say an evil coven started it. They boiled the oceans with dark
magics, and murdered millions to serve their greed. A wise council fought the
coven, and ended it, They incinerated the continents with siege machines, and
murdered millions to serve their self-righteousness. It was bad, but it got
worse when the survivors realized the spirit of the world, the mystic source
of life, the Mother, was dying. She was murdered. The wars final casualty.

First the crops withered under smoke and sorcery-stained skies. The animals
quickly followed, some of the semi-mystical species simply vanishing, with an
air of regret. The divine ways and arcane arts left us soon thereafter. Some
said the energy fled to other realms, those more worthy of the gift.
Pilotless steam golems roamed the shattered hellscape, obliterating every bug
and worm, ensuring victory for long-dead rulers.

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