Bang Bang
what can I say except
Do Not Go Gentle
The world of fairy tales is one of a certain breed of magic; no heroes fire bolts of flames from their hands, but there are men who shall steal your firstborn infants in return for a granted wish you once made as a child. Here, to prick you finger on a thorn is to drop down dead, and little girls stuff unsuspecting crones into ovens.
Astara is a kingdom of folklore gods and immortal Witch Queens. The rules this land obeys are strange and twisted; Equal parts wonderland and nightmare, there are those who know how to play the game, and those fair pawns who are cast across the board by hands unseen and unknown.
This is a world where morality might win you a glass slipper or a curse for a hundred years. Protection is as easily lost as it is won. The fair are strong one second, victims the next. The wicked are your captors, or your dragons waiting to be slain.
This is a kingdom of stories. Words - written, spoken, thought - command more sway than the swing of a sword. Logic shall sift through your clenched fingers as soft and smooth as sand. The world shall show you many things: wonder carried on the wind, fear in a handful of dust.
This is the beginning; There are stories to be told.
And now, you can only hope that you are the one writing yours.
The world of fairy tales is one of a certain breed of magic; no heroes fire bolts of flames from their hands, but there are men who shall steal your firstborn infants in return for a granted wish you once made as a child. Here, to prick you finger on a thorn is to drop down dead, and little girls stuff unsuspecting crones into ovens.
Astara is a kingdom of folklore gods and immortal Witch Queens. The rules this land obeys are strange and twisted; Equal parts wonderland and nightmare, there are those who know how to play the game, and those fair pawns who are cast across the board by hands unseen and unknown.
This is a world where morality might win you a glass slipper or a curse for a hundred years. Protection is as easily lost as it is won. The fair are strong one second, victims the next. The wicked are your captors, or your dragons waiting to be slain.
This is a kingdom of stories. Words - written, spoken, thought - command more sway than the swing of a sword. Logic shall sift through your clenched fingers as soft and smooth as sand. The world shall show you wonder carried on the wind, fear in a handful of dust.
This is the beginning; There are stories to be told.
And now, you can only hope that you are the one writing yours.
Astara is a kingdom of folklore gods and immortal Witch Queens. The rules this land obeys are strange and twisted; Equal parts wonderland and nightmare, there are those who know how to play the game, and those fair pawns who are cast across the board by hands unseen and unknown.
This is a world where morality might win you a glass slipper or a curse for a hundred years. Protection is as easily lost as it is won. The fair are strong one second, victims the next. The wicked are your captors, or your dragons waiting to be slain.
This is a kingdom of stories. Words - written, spoken, thought - command more sway than the swing of a sword. Logic shall sift through your clenched fingers as soft and smooth as sand. The world shall show you wonder carried on the wind, fear in a handful of dust.
This is the beginning; There are stories to be told.
And now, you can only hope that you are the one writing yours.
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