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Poem: Ride now for hearth and home

What kind of Adventure is this?: 
Poetry

Ride not easy into dark and shadowed forests,
Where ancient trees whisper and conspire,
Where roots and stones tickle a horse’s hooves,
Where streams are deep and treacherous,
And overgrown paths lead too far from home.

Ride not foolishly into golden northern realms,
Where wicked elves weave their magic spells,
Where the shade of trees hide their gilded arrows,
Where heavy leaves glitter in the dark of night,
And elven waybread tastes naught of home.

My Sincerest Apologies (A Letter to Cedmon)

What kind of Adventure is this?: 
Story
 To Cedmon Windseeker of the Bree-Lands, at No.2 High Road

Dearest Cedmon,

From Now On

in
What kind of Adventure is this?: 
Story

Itharius's claws clatter along the ground as he prances around the large room, the one large room comprising Stitches' new abode. Stitches himself stares in at the place, a hollowness in his eyes, as if he's only barely perceiving his surroundings, the floor pattern, the roughmade but sturdy wooden furniture, the bed tucked in the corner, and the tables full of plates at the top of the steps near the back of what he can only assume was intended to be a hall of some sort.

Barely Returned

What kind of Adventure is this?: 
Story

The damp, torn and dirty boot seeps traces of water out from it as another step is taken down the cobblestone path. Tired, green eyes lift up to the gate of Bree, while frail fingers grasp at the reins of his horse. Coarsely, he speaks, saying something to himself in a moment of hesitation, as though he himself can't believe it, his voice struggling to start with a forced whistle, "Hhh...Home."

Homecoming

What kind of Adventure is this?: 
Story

Arenborn knocked on the door struggling to hide his broad smile. How long had it been? Three months? Four? It felt like it had been far longer. His fingers curled around the small bouquet of flowers he had picked on his way through their little village and he took a deep breath.

Daily Life - Evenings by the Fire

What type of content is this?: 
Screenshot: General screen

Gaeded spends her evenings sitting by the fire, Grim curled up by her feet.

Daily Life - Dinner

What type of content is this?: 
Screenshot: General screen

A moment of Gaeded's daily life, where she is just sitting and enjoying some stew.

Home On the Green

What kind of Adventure is this?: 
Poetry

Oh give me a hole or a soft, grassy knoll,

Where the fox and badgers are seen,

Where the sheep roam secure drinking water so pure,

Rarely wRitten Random Ramblings Entry #2

What kind of Adventure is this?: 
Diary

Dear Diary,

So, if I want this to catch the eye of some future Treasure Hunter, it must have a title. Since not everyone in Bree-land knows their letters, and I want it to be clear I do—my dad taught me mine—I've decided to literally alliterate my literacy. Therefore, this dynamic diary of doubts, deliberations, and dramatic descriptions of daring do's shall henceforth be known as: Rarely wRitten Random Ramblings! Of course, being the serious person I am, I may later decide that such a title is simply too silly to keep. But we'll see!

Returning Home, Safe At Last!

What kind of Adventure is this?: 
Story

Sunlight filtered down through the budding branches of the Yellow Tree. Jonn squinted up, smiling at having the warm spring breeze on his neck. He looked back at Glorwen, making sure the lead-line between them didn't get caught as they maneuvered around the large trunk. Content she was following safely, he repositioned his aching backside and faced forward again, giving Scorch's mane a playful stroke whether he liked it or not.

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