SilverFlight
Tende altum, volare altius
A place where stories come alive. Legends are real and the characters of fairy tale are made of flesh and blood. This world has always been separate from the world you know, yet connected to it. Our imaginations give it form, our dreams give it power. Without dreamers, the world of FableWood will cease to exist.
Since the first tale was told, tricksters have walked our minds; Their mischief treading the line between good and ill. They are powerful in their cleverness, their ambition and their creativity. From Sly Fox, in all his forms, to Raven, to the Monkey King, to the timid rabbit and the tiny spider. Each has earned their own place in story. Each has a light side…and a dark…
…Something has happened. Something in FableWood is terribly wrong: The once peaceful forests are being plagued with dark creatures, half-real, half shadow. The moon has been cleaved, half a pure, pale, pearl, and half glowing the colour of freshly-spilled blood. The light of the moon is no longer gentle and cleansing, instead it is sharp, and under it, creatures are turned slowly to madness. The tricksters of FableWood, who have stood so long as pillars of the world, the only ones who may have understood this madness, have gone missing.
It is as if the very soul of FableWood has been rent in twain, the fabric of the world imbalanced. Now it seems the cloth of the world is beginning to rip, the magic turned wild is summoning people from the real world anew, and without calling.
Since the first tale was told, tricksters have walked our minds; Their mischief treading the line between good and ill. They are powerful in their cleverness, their ambition and their creativity. From Sly Fox, in all his forms, to Raven, to the Monkey King, to the timid rabbit and the tiny spider. Each has earned their own place in story. Each has a light side…and a dark…
…Something has happened. Something in FableWood is terribly wrong: The once peaceful forests are being plagued with dark creatures, half-real, half shadow. The moon has been cleaved, half a pure, pale, pearl, and half glowing the colour of freshly-spilled blood. The light of the moon is no longer gentle and cleansing, instead it is sharp, and under it, creatures are turned slowly to madness. The tricksters of FableWood, who have stood so long as pillars of the world, the only ones who may have understood this madness, have gone missing.
It is as if the very soul of FableWood has been rent in twain, the fabric of the world imbalanced. Now it seems the cloth of the world is beginning to rip, the magic turned wild is summoning people from the real world anew, and without calling.
Attachments
Last edited: