As I look around I see relics of the past, a dusty old print press, a few goblins, a dwarf or two and a lizard man amongst others, all wearing old leather aprons stained with ink, well I think it's ink anyways!?

In the far corner of the room there is a rickety old roller desk, almost buried beneath a mountain of paperwork, looking a little closer I can see that there is a faded sign on it, the sign says "Editor", with a deep sign of resignation I head for my new home.

A week later........

After wading through at least half of that mountain of paper work I am saddened beyond belief, mostly that pile was old, even ancient stories, accounts of our past history. The few pieces that are still legible speak of alliances and treachery, of tumultuous battles between hoards of undead and the angels of heaven, between ravening armies of fire and the creatures of nature, they speak of the earth shattering magics cast seemingly by phantoms of the aether. But look as I may, I can find nothing that points to an author, not one story is left complete, alas, I fear all has perished with the passing of time.

I send forth this appeal to the mighty (and the not so mighty) mages of Terra; " Bring forth your scribes that your histories may be recorded for posterity. Tell us the stories of your glorious battles, recall for us all those moments when a compatriot made you laugh so hard you thought you'd cry, tell us the secrets of your success. What guilds have you known, why were they great, who were the mighty heroes that you have fought along side of, or that you have fought against?"

"Bring us your stories that we may let the populace of Terra know."


NightEld

Editor
Terra Herald