First of all thank you Gorboth to honour her this way. Ive been reading a lot of her stories, always surpriced how fast and easy it seems to come to her.
Second, she already mentioned this before: Most of her stories about the realms are in the storytellersclub. She is also a librarian there, and so polite not to put her own stories on the shelf, but let me be the judge of if they fit there.
Zillian is funny, extremely creative and people like her make rp so much more fun.
Here is one of her stories she wrote, when she decided the Worshippers was not her place.
The
booms in a deep voice made me laugh out loud, since some of the conversations in this story was what she had with me.
After she left the worshippers training and became a pirate, we both had a drinking contest. Still waiting for a song about that
.
Goldbezie stands tall and declaims in a loud voice:
Seek you a new stone Temple! Deep in a vale!
Go! Open your heart and mind! Step from the trail!
Enlightenment is Dawning!
but heed this warning:
If Undead on Arrival, you'll not prevail!
Goldbezie pretends to search high and low, miming the putting of items in a pack:
To craft Pentacle, Dagger, Chalice and Wand,
'tis Your Quest, Seeker, of the type, We are fond!
Goldbezie continues:
So, fly with the Wind seeking for Aeria?
or hunt with a hammer for fossils of Gu?
both high and low, you'd best scour the area,
without wisdom nor luck and nary a clue!
Goldbezie continues in frustration:
What then? Trawl the depths for Lord Diabrecho?
Or rub sticks together? Hoping for Pyros?
Hark! Is that Laughter? Or just a fey Echo?
As you wander lost with a pack full of dross!
Goldbezie uses a deep otherworldly voice, asking:
What is your intention Seeker?
Goldbezie answers the question:
To be a Healer....
Goldbezie booms in the deep voice:
A Healer?
Goldbezie whispers of her vision:
quiet battlefield
rain falls on bloody bodies
beads run into rills
Goldbezie continues in a whisper:
quiet attendant
drifting between the wounded
tears lost to the rain
Goldbezie continues with determination:
quiet handiwork
staunch the flow, bind the wounds
dam mortal fluids
Goldbezie wipes her brow before finishing:
quiet reflection
amidst dark mud and puddles
unarmed, red handed
Goldbezie booms in a deep voice:
I see Seeker, then you must respect the Clerics
of the Temple, for we can show you the
Way of the Elementals!
Goldbezie ponders, searches through scrolls and searches her heart:
Ponder the quiet pool with silky mirror sheen,
that belies its depth filled with water crisp and clean,
then hawk and spit and see how the surface behaves,
ripple from the loogie -- the harbinger of waves.
Goldbezie booms:
Heretic! I discharge thee!
Goldbezie staggers with a cheeky grin, slurring her words:
A dark crisis of faith pushed me over the brink,
found no wisdom in scrolls, so perhaps then in drink?
I crawled from the Temple to old Orgula's Inn,
and sought out Lord Water in deep bottles of gin.
Goldbezie takes a deep draught from her favourite bottle, then moans:
Woe Diabrecho! You denied me your blessing,
and I was dead drunk when Pirates came pressing,
"Heed not mortal clerics!" so goes my Heresy,
now drunk on a black ship, I seek truth girt by sea.
Goldbezie lifts her bottle to you and shouts out:
Cheers Matey!
Goldbezie falls down