SIDE STORIES

This section of the website is a collection of stories which are canon to the world of Loggers & Clouds, but did not take place within the main storyline.

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Monarch of the Dead: A Saga of Rolo the Viking

In the cold lands of the North, where the winds howl like wolves and the seas rage with fury, there dwelt a young Viking named Rolo. Born of the mighty clan Calcite, his heart was as strong as his arm, yet burdened by grief as deep as the ocean. For Rolo had lost his love, Goldy, to a sickness that swept through the forest like a shadow in the night. With her passing, a part of Rolo's soul was torn asunder, and he knew he must seek solace in the distant horizons beyond. So it was that Rolo embarked on a journey of self-discovery, bidding farewell to his kin and setting sail upon the treacherous seas. With the stars as his guide and the rhythm of the waves as his song, he ventured forth into the unknown, seeking redemption amidst the chaos of the world.

As Rolo roamed the lands, he bore witness to the struggles of nations torn asunder by war and strife. Moved by a desire to bring peace to these troubled lands, he offered his sword and his wisdom to those in need, becoming a beacon of hope amidst the darkness that threatened to engulf them all. But it was not only his strength and courage that set Rolo apart, for he soon discovered within himself a power long dormant from the time of Bumbar—a power to command the very souls of the dead. With this newfound ability, he communed with spirits long departed, gaining insight and allegiance with these forgotten souls.

Thus, Rolo became known as the Monarch of the Dead, a title whispered in awe and reverence by all who crossed his path. With the guidance of the spirits, he brokered treaties and forged alliances, bringing warring factions to the table in pursuit of greater peace.

Yet, amidst his triumphs, Rolo remained haunted by the memory of Goldy, her absence a constant ache in his heart. In moments of solitude, he would gaze upon the stars and speak her name, seeking solace in the echoes of their love that lingered in the night.

But even as he mourned, Rolo knew that his journey was far from over. For wherever there was strife, wherever there was injustice, the Monarch of the Dead would be there, his resolve as unyielding as the mountains themselves, his spirit as indomitable as the raging seas.

And though Goldy may have passed beyond the veil, her presence lingered still, a guiding light in the darkness that surrounded him, leading him ever onward on his quest to bring peace to the troubled lands of the North.

As Rolo delved deeper into his ability to command the souls of the dead, he encountered not only benevolent spirits but also those tainted by darkness. These corrupted souls whispered twisted truths and sowed seeds of doubt in his mind, their haunting whispers echoing in the depths of his dreams. Night after night, Rolo found himself plagued by nightmares, tormented by visions of the past and the specters of those he had failed to save. Their accusing cries pierced through the silence of the night, keeping him awake with the weight of guilt upon his shoulders. But it was not only in his dreams that Rolo faced the wrath of the corrupted souls. Some, driven by bitterness and resentment, turned against him, their ethereal forms twisting into grotesque shadows of their former selves, some with wings soaked in blood. They lashed out with vengeful fury, seeking to drag him down into the abyss from which they had emerged.

Betrayal lurked in the shadows, as some souls he had trusted turned against him, their allegiance swayed by promises of power and redemption. Rolo's heart grew heavy with the weight of their treachery, yet he refused to falter in his quest for peace. With each betrayal and each attack, Rolo's resolve only strengthened. He wielded his power with newfound determination, facing the darkness head-on, his sword and his spirit unyielding in the face of adversity. For though the path ahead was fraught with peril and the shadows of doubt threatened to consume him, Rolo knew that he could not turn away. He was the Monarch of the Dead, a beacon of hope in a world consumed by darkness, and he would not rest until he had banished the shadows and brought light to the souls of the fallen.

As Rolo journeyed through the vast expanse of the North, he stumbled upon a place unlike any he had seen before—the Ancient Lands. Here, trees of precious metals and gemstones stood tall, their branches glimmering in the sunlight like beacons of wealth and wonder.

But it was not just the trees that captivated Rolo's attention. In the heart of the Ancient Lands, he encountered beings unlike any he had ever encountered—Elves crafted of earth and fire, their forms shimmering with an otherworldly radiance. Drawn to their ethereal beauty and serene presence, Rolo sought solace among the Elves, sharing with them the burden that weighed heavy upon his soul.
As he recounted his tale of loss and longing, the Elves listened with compassionate hearts, their wisdom shining like the stars above.

When Rolo spoke of Goldy and the tragedy that had befallen her, the Elves' eyes sparkled with recognition. With gentle voices, they revealed a truth that shook Rolo to his core—Goldy had once been one of them, an Elf who had chosen to walk among mortals, forsaking her never-aging nature.

Tears welled in Rolo's eyes as the weight of this revelation washed over him. In Goldy's sacrifice, he saw the depth of her love and the magnitude of her suffering. Yet, even in death, her spirit lives on.

In the embrace of the Elves, Rolo found comfort and peace, the torment that had plagued his mind finally easing its grip. With renewed determination, he pledged to honor Goldy's memory and continue his quest to bring light to the shadows of the world. And so, guided by the wisdom of the Elves and fueled by the love that had transcended even death itself, Rolo set forth once more, his heart filled with hope and his spirit ablaze with purpose. For though the journey ahead was long and fraught with peril, he knew that with the Elves by his side, he would never walk alone.

Rolo continued traveling until he found the ruins of a cathedral. As he delved deeper into the ruins of the cathedral, the ominous presence of a wyvern grew stronger. Sensing danger lurking in the shadows, he prepared himself for battle, knowing that he could not face the creature alone. Drawing upon his power to command the souls of the dead, Rolo called forth his loyal warriors from the realm of the departed. With spectral forms shimmering with ethereal light, they rallied to his side, their swords and shields at the ready. But Rolo knew that even with the aid of his dead men's army, the wyvern would not be easily defeated. Turning to the Elves for assistance, he sought their wisdom and strength in the face of this formidable foe.

The Elves, with their affinity for the elements and ancient magic, answered Rolo's call without hesitation. Together, they devised a plan to overcome the wyvern, combining their skills and knowledge in a united front against the darkness that threatened to consume them all.

As the wyvern emerged from the shadows, its wingspan made of obsidian casting a long shadow over the ruined cathedral, Rolo and his allies stood firm, their resolve unshakable and their spirits undaunted.

With a mighty roar, the wyvern launched itself at Rolo and his companions, its claws slashing through the air with deadly precision. But Rolo's dead men's army and the Elves fought back with equal ferocity, their weapons clashing against the wyvern's scales with a resounding clang. As the battle raged on, Rolo called upon the spirits of the dead to aid him in his struggle, their ghostly forms swirling around the wyvern like a whirlwind of vengeance. With each strike, they weakened the creature's defenses, opening the way for Rolo and his allies to deliver the final blow.

With a mighty roar of triumph, Rolo and his companions emerged victorious, the wyvern's lifeless body crashing to the ground in a heap of twisted scales and broken wings.

As the echoes of battle faded into the silence of the ruins, Rolo and his allies stood victorious, their hearts filled with pride and their spirits uplifted by the knowledge that they had triumphed against overwhelming odds.

As Rolo and his companions ventured deeper into the woods of the north, they stumbled upon a hidden dungeon teeming with vicious orcs, their crude weapons glinting in the dim light like fangs of a beast ready to pounce. With a roar of challenge, the orcs descended upon Rolo, their numbers overwhelming and their thirst for blood insatiable.

Caught off guard by the sudden onslaught, Rolo found himself surrounded, his companions held back by the sturdy gates of the dungeon. But Rolo was not one to cower in the face of danger. With a defiant shout, he charged headlong into the fray, his sword gleaming in the flickering torchlight as he cleaved through the ranks of his foes with unmatched skill and determination.

With each swing of his blade, Rolo carved a path of destruction through the horde of orcs, his movements a blur of deadly precision and unyielding strength. Orc after orc fell beneath his relentless assault, their cries of pain and fury drowned out by the thunderous clash of steel against flesh. Despite their overwhelming numbers, the orcs proved no match for Rolo's ferocity and skill. With every blow he struck, their ranks grew thinner, until at last, only a handful remained standing between Rolo and victory. But Rolo showed no signs of fatigue or hesitation. With a battle cry that echoed through the dungeon halls, he charged at the remaining orcs, his sword flashing in the darkness as he struck them down one by one with relentless determination.

By the time his companions managed to open the gates to the dungeon and rush to his aid, Rolo stood alone amidst a sea of fallen foes, his body drenched in the blood of his enemies. Yet despite the toll that the battle had taken on him, his spirit burned bright with the fire of victory, his resolve unbroken and his courage unwavering.

With grateful smiles and words of praise, Rolo's companions helped him to his feet, their admiration for his bravery and skill evident in their eyes. Together, they emerged from the depths of the dungeon, their bond forged in the crucible of battle stronger than ever before.

And though the scars of their encounter with the orcs would linger long after they had left the ruins behind, Rolo and his companions knew that they had faced the darkness and emerged victorious, their spirits undaunted by the challenges that lay ahead.

[Story by Navy]

To be continued in Clouds 2...

[TRIGGER WARNING - MAY CONTAIN VIOLENCE, BLOOD REFERENCE TO GORE, REFERENCE TO TORTURE]
[Because of this, this material may not be appropriate for all audiences. Viewer discretion is advised]

Ah, I see you’ve come for a story. Come, gather around, and let me tell you the story about the horrors of Dellex.

Dellex was a small town located on a far continent. Before what had happened, Dellex was rather secluded. It was nestled between a massive forest to the west, and a sprawling mountain range to the east. Journeying to the capital would take about four days for a caravan, perhaps just under three if you were travelling alone. But travelling alone was not advised, as you didn't know what kind of monsters could await you in the forest.

However, our story is not about the monsters that come from the forest, but rather the monsters that had arrived in Dellex from beyond the forest. The individuals that left Dellex the decrepit ruin that it is today. And, how they changed the life of one young woman, in particular, forever.

But before I do, allow me to tell you more about the town of Dellex, and its residents. The town itself is, as I have already mentioned, rather small and secluded. Yet it provides for itself in many ways; it has a multitude of farms that grow many different crops, it fishes in the river nearby, it even trades with the passing merchant caravans that travel through. All of this makes Dellex rather independent, despite its seclusion. And as for the people, well, the town is almost exclusively made up of Elsyrians. What is an Elsyrian, you ask? Well, an Elsyrian is a type of human, who can shapeshift into an animal without the use of magic. It is completely natural, however they can shift into one animal for their entire life. And yet, there was one girl amongst the residents of Dellex who was different. This girl was completely human, and it is unknown where she came from, or indeed her last name. So, people have just taken to calling her Avery. She became a model village girl, helping around the town, and helping out the townspeople as well. Sadly, however, for this young woman, her life would change forever.

Our story begins in the early hours of the morning. The sun has only just begun to rise, but this is the time where the workers of Dellex, namely the farmers and the fisherpeople, would get up as well. Their jobs called for it after all. And whilst the centre of the town remained mostly quiet, one light amidst the sea of black stood proudly in a lone windowsill. This light belonged to Avery, as she herself was also getting up to work. She put on her work clothes, and walked out the door. Now, Avery wasn’t a farmer, nor was she a fisherwoman. But she still felt obligated to at least help where she could, given all the town has done for her. This just became routine for her. In fact, many of the townspeople would use her as a type of alarm, much like a rooster, as her morning routine was so meticulous! And so, after helping out some of the farmers with feeding their livestock, Avery ventured towards the forest, where the river is located, in order to help out the fisherpeople.

This, however, is where our story takes a turn for the worst.

On the way back from the river, Avery and the fisherpeople, carrying the straw baskets of fish, an unnatural amount of noise could be heard coming from the forest. Keep in mind, it was still early morning, so most of what could be heard at this time would be the chitter of a couple of birds. However, the sound that could be heard now sounded more like marching. The sound of steel on the ground, the rustling of chainmail, and now, the disarray of the forest and the life within. This stopped Avery and the others in their tracks, as they turned to see what could possibly emerge from the brush.

The sounds became louder as they grew closer, and after what felt like hours, the source of the sound finally showed themselves. What looked like nearly five rows of men, all clad in chainmail and light armour, bearing the symbols of their order, marched onto the clearing. This group was led by a single man who stood at the front. This man was clad in more padded leather than light armour, but he wore the same colours and symbols as the rest of the men. The man in front also wore a wide-brimmed hat with a bloodied feather fixed into the sash.
What also made this man stand out is that whilst the others either carried a sword and shield, or a sword and flail, this man carried a rapier, a mace, and a flintlock. As they were still standing in the clearing, the man in front unsheathed his rapier, pointed it to the sky, then in one swift motion, pointed it towards the town. With that, the rows of men charged forward, letting out a bone-chilling warcry in the process. The fisherpeople knew that they had to get back to town before the attackers, and so with a blood-curdling cry, one of them shouted;

“RUN!!”

Whilst the fisherpeople did, Avery did not. She could not. She was completely frozen in fear. The fisherpeople didn’t look back, and so had no idea that Avery was not following. She just stood there, unable to move, unable to scream. Legions of men charged past her, and eventually, she just fell to her knees. Her heart was beating so fast she was struggling to breathe. And as she lifted her head up slowly, who did she see staring back down at her? None other than the man who was leading this attack in the first place. His cold gaze burned into Avery’s very soul, and she froze up again. The two soldiers that were flanking the leader’s sides lifted Avery up by her arms. She didn’t resist at all. The leader lifted her up gently by the chin so that he could look into her eyes, and he said;

“Worry not child. All sins are corrected before The Great Divine,” He then turns to one of his men and says; “Round up those who surrender, and throw this one amongst them, we shall see their hideous truths soon enough.”

The two men nod and then drag Avery by the arms back towards the town centre. As she is being dragged into town, Dellex is already in chaos; the buildings have been torched and they are blazing out of control. The townspeople are being slaughtered in the streets. Those who are trying to fight, those who are trying to escape, are all getting cut down the same. Men, women, children, it mattered not. Soon enough, the blood that was spilled began to mix with the ash that has fallen on the cobbled stones of Dellex.
Along the end of one street, a group of surviving townspeople have been herded together into a small group. Despite the carnage around, it was deathly quiet near the group. The two soldiers that were dragging Avery along the streets just dropped her in front of the group, and when they saw that she didn’t join the townspeople, they kicked her hard enough to throw her in that direction. This still didn’t slap Avery out of her fear induced paralysis.

Moments pass, and then the leader makes his way to the group of surviving townsfolk, and the soldiers surrounding them. The Horrific screaming along the streets has since ceased, however that is simply because there is nobody else left. The leader orders his men to stand up the survivors. They do so, and the townspeople comply. And with a cold gaze, and a commanding aura about him, the leader finally introduces himself;

“I apologise if my men were a little overzealous. I am Father Barclay, and I serve The Order of the Crimson Mist. Our mission is to create a world, where Creation’s true champions, humankind, are able to walk this world in peace. A world where non-humans are a dirty thing of the past. A world, in you and those like you don’t belong,”

With this Barclay snaps his fingers, and the soldiers standing behind the group of townspeople quickly inject them with a type of poison. Each person begins to writhe in agony as the poison spreads, and eventually they all fall to the ground, screaming in pain. Barclay continues.

“Mirrorwisp, Bogland Nightshade, and the blood of a Werewolf. These three ingredients can create a potent toxin that your kind can’t stand. So much so, that it is only a matter of time before you all reveal your hideous truths, and shift into your beastial forms. And when you do we will slaughter you all like the animals you truly are!”

Slowly, as Barclay had said, each of the townspeople began to morph and change. This was a much more painful process than usual, as it was being forced. However, Avery did not change. She did not shift as she was not Elsyrian, remember? She was but a mere human. But Barclay and his men did not know this.
So, whilst the remaining townsfolk were being butchered in their animal forms, Barclay injected Avery with the toxin three more times. Each injection was more agonising than the last, and with each one, her skin became more and more discoloured. Avery, who was screaming in pain the entire time, eventually grew silent. Not because she was unconscious, or had died, she just became unresponsive.

Barclay eventually realised that Avery couldn’t be Elsyrian, due to the amount of the poison he injected into her. However, instead of just killing her like the rest, Barclay had an idea. Instead of killing Avery there and then, they took her back to one of their bases, and they, well……

They tortured her. They ran tests, they tested things on her, they just broke her beyond repair. And the reason? For entertainment. They were ‘conditioning’ her to become an emotionless gladiator to fight in a bloody pit for the entertainment of the Order. They had eventually granted Avery her ‘freedom’ three years on, but at that point all she knew how to do was to fight. There was nothing for her. A couple of weeks later, her body was supposedly found in a river several miles away from where she would fight. The Order buried Avery in an unmarked grave for the time being, but many people who had supported Avery in her career as a gladiator were not happy and demanded that she be given a proper burial.

However, when they went back to Avery’s grave roughly twenty-eight days later, the grave was empty and her body was nowhere to be seen. Most people just chalked it up to graverobbers, but there are those who swore that they heard noises along the river in the nights after. Avery’s body to this day still has not been found but, perhaps, that is for the best.

And that, my friends, is the story of the atrocities that were committed to the town of Dellex and to its people. Like I have said, Avery’s body still hasn’t been found to this day. But the ruins of Dellex itself are still around. And, according to some, if you go to the town in the early morning, before the sun rises, you may just see a light in a window. And if you do, I would advise to not stick around for much longer.

After all, who knows what kind of monsters could be wandering around?

[Story by Sparrow]

THE COUNCIL OF ROSEUNDHUND

Roseundhund was a town in the world of Loggers. It was home to many beings, but there is an ancient history to the town of Roseundhund. Roseundhund once was a field with nothing more than simple grass but one day three small buds popped out of the ground. These small buds began to change form turning into three sentient plant beings. Once they woke up trees would emerge wherever the wood-like one would go, wherever the rose-like would wander the flowers would bloom behind him. The final one that looked feminine with ivy all over them planted massive roots right beneath their feet. These beings would become to be known as Wood Man, Plantius, and Ivy Lady the council of Roseundhund. These beings would for centuries take care of the land of Roseundhund and would observe closely any other beings that would try to settle in this beautiful land.

Once Roseundhund started to gain traction, more and more beings would settle down here and make a town. The council did not mind this as long as they didn't threaten the land of Roseundhund. The council and the beings such as humans lived in peace with one another. One day though a human set fire to a forest near Roseundhund, this enraged the council and they punished the humans by allowing their food to rot faster and starving many humans. The humans begged for the council's forgiveness and eventually the council let them live. The council made the humans promise to take care of Roseundhund as they would now go into hibernation for the next hundred years.

During this one hundred years, a humanoid fungus known as Dahmoth would settle down in Roseundhund. Dahmoth was a peculiar fungus as he would die over and over and spread his fungus all over Roseundhund. This awoke the council and the council were shocked to see fungi all over Roseundhund. The council combined efforts with some fairies to prevent Dahmoth from spreading further. They constructed a massive obsidian wall which imprisoned Dahmoth. The council would then repair Roseundhund and spread life once more. Dahmoth however had other plans and he expanded and expanded within the walls, and suddenly time skipped and Dahmoth expanded so much he covered the entirety of Roseundhund. We do not know if the council survived this...

[Story by Navy]

My Goldie

(A shanty-like ballad inspired by a daring viking and a gift from his loved one)

Well it’s one for the ages, and it’s one for the night
As we run through the pages, let me run down his plight
See it’s two hearts to angels, with a wish to grow old
For a daring young viking and block made of gold

He trekked o’er mountains, he crossed channels deep
He was beat down by heatwaves, then frostbite did creep
Into his poor body, he must’ve felt cold
This worn down young viking, with a heart made of gold

His eyes they closed softly, he was not long for life
Everything was near over, no more pain, no more strife
‘Till he regained his vision, he lay still in some hold
With a pretty young maiden, and her hair coloured gold

Many nights did he stay there, she, a gift from above
Though a lowly young viking, they both soon fell in love
He promised her diamonds, she just laughed, her eyes rolled
As she gave this young viking a block of pure gold

She said keep this close to you, think of it, then of me
But our viking was confused, for he still could not see
Many nights she did fall ill, then for weeks more, I’m told
He just wept o’er her deathbed, tears streaming down gold

But one night something changed him, he just rose to his feet
His eyes filled with malice, as he gritted his teeth
He swallowed his sadness, any tear he would scold
He cried “Goldie, my Goldie! And your heart made of gold!”

“I will swear my life to you, and this promise I’ll make!
In the name of our love dear, I will burn at the stake!
I will shatter whole empires! Even God, he will fold!
For my Goldie, my Goldie! My sweet angel of gold!”

Our viking, has grown now. He has seen his mistake
He has torched down whole countries, left ash in his wake
He has long since been buried, his corpse green with moss
He has been through great hardships, he has suffered great loss
He had killed, he had butchered, and many more acts untold

All for Goldie, his Goldie, his maiden of gold

(Ballad written by Sparrow)

Add your own content here. Click to edit.

The Ivory Coast

(a shanty inspired by amethyst sailors revisiting their snowy roots)

Come on now me maties, there's much left to do
(Farewell for now, and we'll make the most)
There's cargo to pack yet, before the day's through
(So now, lads and lassies, to the ivory coast)

We'll leave 'fore the dawn breaks, so let down that sail
(Farewell for now, and we'll make the most)
At our destination, there'll surely be hail
(So now, lads and lassies, to the ivory coast)

So part with your loved ones now, say your goodbyes
(Farewell for now, and we'll make the most)
Board our fine vessel, and ignore their cries
(So now, lads and lassies, to the ivory coast)

Be brave, for our leader has come see us go
(Farewell for now, and we’ll make the most)
She said take your time lads, or it’ll take its toll
(So now, lads and lassies, to the ivory coast)

She said be prepared now, and arm yourselves well
(Farewell for now, and we’ll make the most)
Or your destination will be a cold hell
(So now, lads and lassies, to the ivory coast)

See, for many a year now, along this same route
(Farewell for now,and we’ll make the most)
Has sailed droves of vikings, in search of some loot
(So now, lads and lassies, to the ivory coast)

If they catch our ship boys, we’re as good as dead
(Farewell for now, and we’ll make the most)
Don’t try to run, or they’ll sever your head
(So now, lads and lassies, to the ivory coast)

So steer us with caution, because I’ve been told
(Farewell for now, and we’ll make the most)
We’re doomed if we meet a young viking of gold
(So now, lads and lassies, to the ivory coast)

Steel yourselves maties, now spread your wings, fly
(Farewell for now, and we’ll make the most)
It matters not if we live here or die
(So now, lads and lassies, to the ivory coast)

For we’ll be immortal in songs yet to come
(Farewell for now, and we’ll make the most)
In legends told loosely with Cubaen Rum
(So now, lads and lassies, to the ivory coast)

By veterans, by rookies, by maidens not wed
(Farewell for now, and we’ll make the most)
Within these stories, we’ll never be dead
(So now, lads and lassies, to the ivory coast)

So sail with me laddies, through hail and through fog
(Farewell for now, and we’ll make the most)
Through cyclones, through tides low, through breathtaking smog
(So now, lads and lassies, to the ivory coast)

We’ll row for weeks, hell, we’ll row till we’re done
(Farewell for now, and we’ll make the most)
And when we row back boys, you’ll soon have your fun
(So now, lads and lassies, to the ivory coast)

But look now, the dawn breaks, the start of new day
(Farewell for now, and we’ll make the most)
Our journey’s but over, we’ve docked in the bay
(So now, lads and lassies, to the ivory coast)

It’s farewell to home now, but we’ve the most
(Farewell for now, and we’ll make the most)
So cheers, lads and lassies, to the ivory coast
(So now, lads and lassies, to the ivory coast)

(Shanty written by Sparrow)

Cat's Eye Gardener Blend

(An excerpt from a compendium documenting the various tea blends available from the currently closed Cliffside Tea Shop)

Now, my friends, onto a real oddity as far as tea is concerned. The proprietor of Cliffside has been at work, it would seem, as he is beginning to sell an array of blends that, quote unquote, merge form and function, much like the common garb strives to. This particular blend is earning favour amongst the traveller folk, the merchants that brave the roads in the height of the twilight (which is another blend we’ve yet to discuss). The reason for such a rising rapport among these groups is down to a most peculiar ailment of this blend’s consumption, one that serves as preference among the customer. The status in question being inflicted here, is the uncanny gift of a higher calibre of vision within such pitch blackness as observed upon our nighttime roads. Whilst I cannot swear to it yet, having not the need nor the chance to indulge, many hold true the benefits of this ‘wonder’ blend, which has lit up the roads for the brave souls journeying across field and forest unaided.

From what could be observed, the properties of this tea fall to this order of preparation;

The tea leaves are steeped in usual fashion, in hot water until its clarity is muddied with the flavour of this mystery combination of leaves (who’s combination is still kept as such by the proprietor, a mystery well guarded).
The tea leaves are then removed, and a cloth of suitable cleanliness is draped over the tea water for want of trapping the warmth within.
The used tea leaves are thrust into mortar and pestle, accompanied by a diced golden carrot, a hardy lump of ginger, and one leaf of mint, sufficiently ribboned for ease of grinding. The medley is then grinded down to a slaw-like feel at which point the first oddity was observed. The work of the pestle rendered the colour palette a perplexing shimmering green. As if a youngling slime was snatched from its home and promptly mashed in that very mortar.
The mash of ingredients is then dolloped kindly into the tea water, and the bowl placed over a heat. Whilst lightly stirring at appropriate intervals, the same cloth used to halt the cooling process is pressed into a bowl-like container, only difference being the army of needle-thin holes pricked into its underbelly.
Once the tea water has had enough time to infuse itself with the essence of the mash, it is pulled off of the heat, and its contents dumped into the clothen bowl contraption. Once done so, the fluid was observed to exit through the needle-like holes into the serving cup of glass the shape of an upside-down bell, the mash failing to drain with it in earnest to the cloth catching any foodstuffs left from the brewing. This leftover mash is then disposed of
The tea is garnished with a floating of shredded golden carrot at the top, and served with a candied cattail stalk

And what we are left with, my friends, is a beverage as intriguing as it is fulfilling to look at. The colour of the liquid is a crystal clear green, that harbours a sort of glistening sheen to it. The taste, I am led to believe, is a familiar tale of tea retold, the normal everyday tea leaf given a tasteful clarity, the ginger spicing it expertly whilst remaining true to its earthen tones, closed off with a refreshing trail at the hands of the mint leaf. All in all, a very pleasant and light solution to when the sunlight has deserted us for greener pastures.

(Excerpt was written by Sparrow. Cliffside Tea Shop is an original idea of Sparrow and does not belong to anyone else)

Nautilus Fire Tea Blend

(An excerpt from a compendium documenting the various tea blends available from the currently closed Cliffside Tea Shop)

Ah, a classic blend long standing many revisions to a menu honed throughout the years by the ever mysterious owner. One that I often find myself partaking in, should the need, and or the mood, arise. The proprietor swears by this blend, claiming to have endowed both him, and leagues of his satisfied customers, with a type of strength that would have eluded them otherwise. This form of strength is of the physical nature to be sure, but mayhaps a strength that still is unresiding in the likes of those who drink this Nautilus Fire Tea. I have been told, just as much as I have personally observed, that the method to which this striking blend works to, is one of fleeting invigoration, rather than one of supplement. That is to say, this blend is not meant to act in the stead of daily betterment with hope to the same effect, but rather act as variety in the midst of one’s lunchtime ritual in close approximation to their physical training. I must say, my friends, it is quite telling if anything, as Cliffside’s proprietor is oft abound in high spirits, with this very blend a keen partner in his routine.

From what could be observed, the properties of this tea fall to this order of preparation;

The tea leaves are steeped in usual fashion, in hot water until its clarity is muddied with the flavour of this mystery combination of leaves (of which I very much did recall, that a prevailing use of green tea leaves were ever the more apparent upon spectating this blend’s machination).
The tea leaves are then removed, and a cloth of suitable cleanliness is draped over the tea water for want of trapping the warmth within.
The used tea leaves are thrust into mortar and pestle, accompanied by salt and pepper, half a handful of nutmeg, a handful of sliced ginger, and four freshly picked blisterberries (fiery fruits native to the Nether, resembling a gooseberry, but closer in taste to a raspberry). The medley is then grinded down to a mash with great effort (mayhaps my friends, an aspect of the strength from this blend is to be found here!). The mash displayed a striking sun-red hue, gentle but commanding all at once. Like an invigorated sunrise.
The mash of ingredients is then dolloped kindly into the tea water, and the bowl placed over a heat. Whilst lightly stirring at appropriate intervals, the same cloth used to halt the cooling process is pressed into a bowl-like container, only difference being the army of needle-thin holes pricked into its underbelly.
Once the tea water has had enough time to infuse itself with the essence of the mash, it is pulled off of the heat, and its contents dumped into the clothen bowl contraption. Once done so, the fluid was observed to exit through the needle-like holes into the serving cup, which gave some merit to the blend’s name. As it were, the serving cup was that of a nautilus shell, cleanly cut lengthways and washed vigorously. The mash failed to drain with the drink in earnest to the cloth catching any foodstuffs left from the brewing. This leftover mash is then disposed of.
To the tea is added one spoonful of blistering powder, the product of blisterberries that have been dried and ground into a silken dust (A result of this process, rends the colour of the powder a shimmering orangy-gold).
The powder is gently stirred within the cup, creating a shimmering vortex within the beverage. A dash of orange juice is spritzed on top, and a candied orange peel is allowed float on top. Finally, two to three blisterberries are set on top of the candied peel, thus completing the garnish.

And there it is, my friends, a beautiful and classic tea blend that almost seems to inexpensive for the ample amounts of love and care put into it. The liquid almost bears a glass-like clarity to it, along with its eye-catching ruby-red hue. The blistering powder glistening within the beverage, and what emerges is the most enchanting of amber glows from within. The taste is almost as beautiful as its visage. The green tea leaves are at the forefront of the mystery blend, but they soon give way to the inner workings of the spices added. The nutmeg does well to cut through the natural sharpness of the ginger, whilst the salt and the pepper work in tandem to keep the two in check. Rather unsurprisingly, however, the blisterberries are the stars of the show here. Raspberry tones quite fittingly melt away to a burst of heat, one that is not, I’m pleased to say, a heat that would ashen your tastebuds and or ignite your very soul. This fire is far the more of the mellow variety, in no small help to the blistering powder which, in spite of its name, has lost nearly all of its spice as a result of the drying process. Whilst just one cup of this perfectly balanced tea would pluck you up something fierce, it is ever virtuous the man who should stop at just one. With the benefits from drinking such a striking beauty, it is all the more clear why the Nautilus Fire Tea has remained a staple in Cliffside’s illustrious menu.

(Excerpt was written by Sparrow. Cliffside Tea Shop is an original idea of Sparrow and does not belong to anyone else)