Etheria

In Which Our Lovely Storyteller is Taken Captive

Upon my wanderings throughout Terracaspa, I often found myself lost, tired, and starving, possibly even dying, in a forest, only to be rescued by some kind strangers who would share with me a most wonderful story. Of course, this was never just a one time thing. Nay, it was a dilemma that we, the Liophytes, often face, as often could not even hold a penny to our name. To truly explain what, or rather how, I found myself in such a position, it would only make sense to start all the way from the beginning.

Now, the Liophytes were an order, if you could even call it that as we were terribly disorganized and we were grossly underfunded. We dedicated our lives to the recording of stories, fact and fiction. We were simply to be watchers, cold, distant observers who recorded each detail without missing a single beat. If we failed to do that, we would end up as I currently am now, kicked out of the order. What I did to be kicked out is another story in its entirety.

It is said that there are no new stories in this world, simply retellings of olde, rephrased and re polished. Often, if one looks clearly enough, they may find that to be true, but as of now, I have found myself staring down a shiny, sharp tip of an arrow aimed at me by a young man who looked as though he had just returned from the war. I sighed. Cyrelia, you're screwed. Next thing I knew was I was walking up in a completely different place, bound by ropes.