In an untidy, unsteady, messy hand writing.
Always remember to look up, to see the shadows that fall upon you and us all.
In an untidy, unsteady, messy hand writing.
Always remember to look up, to see the shadows that fall upon you and us all.
[posted below in a different hand] Even in the Dark we can find moments of happiness. Even in these bleak caverns there is hope for the surface. Do not give in to despair, but find joy in your successes.
The Underdark's a bloody foul place yes, but we're in the one place where we stand a chance against the horrors out there. A place with walls, guards, and scouts Seeking the surface.
Never give up. Never surrender to hopelessness.
-A preacher of Lurue's word.
// Original work from here.
To that, I say the following: Piffle, bunk and tosh. I'd call you a heretic if you weren't so patently rothing ridiculous! You claim false hope leads to death, but where does despair lead? Will despair bring us to the surface? Will defeat let us choose a safer life down here? Will losing all hope give us a better future or a far worse one? Here's a hint: It's the worse one. I can only assume these are the deranged scrawlings of a madman and will pray that you find a healer, mage or priest to clear your addled head.
-Preacher.
I for one find the depictions most amusing, and feel that many in this city take the artist far too seriously.
Clearly, this is Satirical nature of the return of the Seekers and others who rampantly spread "Hope" but do little to bring it about.
Artistic ability aside, the message is strong, and most humorous.
I feel Charlatans should take up their issue elsewhere, perhaps making their own postings, rather than ruining this brilliant man or woman's artwork.
A firm applause to the artist for satirical brilliance, and I look forward to further workings.
-Saman Lannarlson, Expert on all things Fine.
Scattered in response to the Preacher.
Scattered in response to Saman Lannarlson
The dark is where I was raised, so it would be foolish to think anything but.
Do keep up the humor.
~S.L.
Darkness harbors lies and deceit.
There is no truth in shadow, only betrayal.
Thrisa.
Dear Artist,
I would like to tell you a story. Once upon a time there lived a boy. This boy lived on a farm. He was content, but when passing merchants, bards, wizards and warriors told him tales of the wide world he was enthralled. His eyes gleamed, his hands itched for the feel of a blade in them, and the feeble magic he could command ached to grow into mystical storms of power and enchantment. However, he and his family were too poor to train him or outfit him. Then, one day, as the boy was plowing he hit what he thought was a root. He snapped the reigns, urging the horse forward. Without further ado, the great animal pulled the plow through whatever obstruction held it in place. Then, in a sudden rumble of violence, the earth ripped asunder and dropped both boy and mare into the deep, dark hole that appeared beneath their very feet.
Since my arrival in this dark, dreary, hopeless place, I have found many things. Training. Money. Power of a sort. Adventure. But most of all, I have found friends. I have found love. It is true, there is sorrow and pain to be had in this place, but it is more than balanced out by the happiness and pleasure to be had from the people that inhabit it.
Your mission is doomed to fail, Artist.
~Squire Parto Colds
*posted below, clusmily written*
artist
you boring
grom