Greetings and salutations, I have returned from many long weeks of reclusive study of ancient texts and toiling in the blistering sun, vanquishing evil beasts who wish to inflict their wicked wills upon me. My sword, gleaming with collected moonlight (from where it draws its power), has claimed the souls of dozens of villains at my hand. Though now I set it aside to return to my cherry wood desk and seek the comfort of my peacock feather quill, which bears the eyes of my protectors and the ink of Wisdom, which is made of the blood of a hundred grand men and woman, all masters of their fields in literature, science, mathematics and history. These gifts for which I use to write to you now were bestowed upon me by the Great M after I sailed my flying house with crow wings into a fierce thunderstorm and collected thirteen jars of raw lightening to make fresh metal for the volcano metalsmiths, who cannot touch the Mother Sky until she reaches an unforgiving hand to strike them first. Masters of their craft, the metalsmiths admired my heroics and their leader, the Great M, offered these gifts to me in return for my efforts, along with a name by which to call myself. A name which is whispered breathlessly among the people and heroes of the light and cursed by the cutthroats and evildoers in every darkened alley.
Stormchaser13.