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About Stillron

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  • Birthday 11/09/1999

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    Anywhere in time and space, but mostly Italy

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  1. Thank you for your comment! I really enjoyed writing it 🙂
  2. Thank you so much! 🙂 Congratulations to the other winners and all the other awesome writers! By the way I'm a she 😄
  3. I’m glad you liked my idea 🙂 In my imagination the shamans who became breath-catchers naively tried to exploit the dark magic of Ravva’s Breath, they ended up being corrupted by all this power and now they’re trapped: it could either be a physical trap caused by the magic stream or a psychological one. In the latter case attacking people could also be a way to protect their power from anyone who might take it from them. So I guess that for lack of other solutions the only way for them to be free is death… who doesn’t like a tragic ending? 😁
  4. I was raised by a clan of highlanders, hearing tales of great shamans powerful enough to cause earthquakes and to strike enemies with bolts of lightning. I decided to devote myself to the art of healing and magic and I strove to become a strong shaman like the ones I had heard so much about. Then came the time to test my abilities in a new and strange land called Norlant Swamps. Armed with a not so powerful staff but a lot of courage and determination, I ventured into this new adventure, moving through strange and random teleports. I discovered that this island was inhabited by odd and unfriendly creatures, that could kill me in one fell swoop. I encountered armed colourful frogs, annoying baby dragons and a worryingly high number of abducted creatures, while bizarre characters encouraged me to desecrate greedy men’s tombs and destroy ancient cultural heritage such as fire-breathing columns. As I ran through this hostile land, described by its own inhabitants as “a stinking swamp”, envying those who could make themselves invisible to rob weird blue blob-like creatures and to escape enraged living towers, I wondered whether I was really up to this gruelling task. Inured by the malodorous air of the swamps, I optimistically kept trying until I was beset by a doubt: were the gods of this island against me? Just when I was about to give up and go back to my dearly beloved mountains, defeated and humiliated, a wise man (or a mad one, it’s sometimes hard to tell them apart) suggested that I visited an old shaman and so I did. This sorcerer was unlike anyone I had ever met before, as powerful as the heroes of ancient epic tales but definitely not as well dressed. His dark penetrating eyes stared at me as a shiver ran down my spine. He seemed to know why I was there: he handed me a magic stone, promising that no creature would ever defeat me again. He warned me that I had to be willing to pay a price, but I didn’t listen to him, confident that no price would be too high to become a legend of Arinar. As I held the stone in my hands, reciting an ancient spell, I inhaled Ravva’s breath and I felt a strange power taking control of my body. My mind was clouded and corrupted by the dark magic that flowed around me: as I stepped into the magic stream I realised that I had made a big mistake, but it was too late. I was trapped, doomed to spend the rest of my days as a breath-catcher in these stinking swamps and I would never breath the fresh air of the mountains again.