johnharold
Online 55 minutes ago
Member since 2022-10-25
2 subscribers
75 sequences
25,488 plays
Online 55 minutes ago
Member since 2022-10-25
2 subscribers
75 sequences
25,488 plays
(my real name is F****y
from now on almost everyday I will post a daily story in my bio... well at least I will try:
Sunday
The Echoes of Frostvale
In the rugged northern lands of Thalgrun, where pine forests bend beneath blankets of snow and jagged mountains pierce gray skies, there was a small village called Frostvale. Few travelers passed through, for the roads were ruled by wolves, ice trolls, and worse things that hid from firelight.
A young hunter named Eryndor lived there. He carried a simple iron bow, worn fur armor, and a dagger he had inherited from his grandmother, who once served as a ranger of the High Passes. Each morning before dawn, Eryndor slipped from his cabin and ventured into the frost-choked forest to hunt elk and gather herbs to trade in the village square.
One evening, while stalking a deer near a frozen creek, he noticed strange tracks in the snow. They were clawed, large, but unlike bear or troll. They circled the clearing, leading toward a dark cave mouth hidden beneath drooping pine branches.
Ignoring the biting winds, Eryndor nocked an arrow and approached. As he entered, the warmth of the outside air vanished, replaced by an ancient chill. Faint blue light flickered from deeper within. He crept forward and saw a stone altar, glowing with runes that pulsed like a dying heartbeat. Beside it lay a creature’s corpse – a frost wraith, its translucent form shattered like ice glass.
Above the altar hovered a shard of crystal, whispering in an unknown tongue. Against his better judgment, Eryndor reached out. The moment his fingers brushed the shard, visions burned his mind: a forgotten king entombed beneath the Frostvale mountains, guarded by spirits of ice and shadow, waiting for one who could awaken him.
Eryndor fell back, gasping. As he staggered into the frigid night, the voice of the shard echoed in his ears:
“Seek the tomb of Kaldar Frostbound, bearer of the Winter Crown. Only then will your destiny be forged in ice and flame.”
From that night onward, he could hear the whispers of the cold winds and see paths hidden to ordinary eyes. The forest no longer felt the same. It felt alive, waiting, as if the world itself had been holding its breath until he discovered this secret.
And so, Eryndor’s life as a simple hunter ended. His journey as the Seeker of Frostbound had begun.
from now on almost everyday I will post a daily story in my bio... well at least I will try:
Sunday
The Echoes of Frostvale
In the rugged northern lands of Thalgrun, where pine forests bend beneath blankets of snow and jagged mountains pierce gray skies, there was a small village called Frostvale. Few travelers passed through, for the roads were ruled by wolves, ice trolls, and worse things that hid from firelight.
A young hunter named Eryndor lived there. He carried a simple iron bow, worn fur armor, and a dagger he had inherited from his grandmother, who once served as a ranger of the High Passes. Each morning before dawn, Eryndor slipped from his cabin and ventured into the frost-choked forest to hunt elk and gather herbs to trade in the village square.
One evening, while stalking a deer near a frozen creek, he noticed strange tracks in the snow. They were clawed, large, but unlike bear or troll. They circled the clearing, leading toward a dark cave mouth hidden beneath drooping pine branches.
Ignoring the biting winds, Eryndor nocked an arrow and approached. As he entered, the warmth of the outside air vanished, replaced by an ancient chill. Faint blue light flickered from deeper within. He crept forward and saw a stone altar, glowing with runes that pulsed like a dying heartbeat. Beside it lay a creature’s corpse – a frost wraith, its translucent form shattered like ice glass.
Above the altar hovered a shard of crystal, whispering in an unknown tongue. Against his better judgment, Eryndor reached out. The moment his fingers brushed the shard, visions burned his mind: a forgotten king entombed beneath the Frostvale mountains, guarded by spirits of ice and shadow, waiting for one who could awaken him.
Eryndor fell back, gasping. As he staggered into the frigid night, the voice of the shard echoed in his ears:
“Seek the tomb of Kaldar Frostbound, bearer of the Winter Crown. Only then will your destiny be forged in ice and flame.”
From that night onward, he could hear the whispers of the cold winds and see paths hidden to ordinary eyes. The forest no longer felt the same. It felt alive, waiting, as if the world itself had been holding its breath until he discovered this secret.
And so, Eryndor’s life as a simple hunter ended. His journey as the Seeker of Frostbound had begun.
