Updated: Jul 30
The land of writing has quite a few legends that surround it. Below are some of the official tales, recorded by the scribes of our world!
Table of Contents
Known as "the land of writing", WriterVana is a realm situated between one dimension and the next. A diverse gathering of writers reside in these lands, individuals of all backgrounds making it their home. The realm promises peace, and to regulate lands of serenity, Magistrates rule as leaders: Usha, the queen of flames and phoenixes; Devil, the queen of teeth and the worlds down under; Wen, the wise owl that flits from branch to branch; and Bird, the backyard hot grill. A rogue robot, Yue, may also be seen running around from time to time, but pay no heed to any suspicious activities that it may be doing. The lands of WriterVana sprawl far and wide. To the North, you'll find pillars and meadows. To the South, you'll find the Moon's Lake. Countless landmarks are scattered throughout, but altogether, most people meet at the center: the Isle of Serenity. Outside of the isle, you may come across a guild or two nestled within the hills, but look beyond: there's far more to discover along your journey. WriterVana welcomes any writer, should that include those who have newly begun their path, or experienced authors seeking a community. The only challenge of entering the lands would be the crossing of borders, where a dark expanse of woods circles the outside of the realm. Magistrates and Guardians are there to help seekers in their entrance, lighting a way in the dark. Once inside, after passing through an introductory ceremony, you'll be welcome to travel the lands however you like. What are you hesitating for? Home is waiting.
Upon dusk I sat by window pane, staring at the soaring birds. They looked beautiful and free, how I wished I were them! Freedom was everyone's desire including me. However, I didn't dare to wish for I knew the cage had become part of me.
Staring at the skies was the only sanctuary to indulge my ideal wish for freedom. Besides staring at the skies, I could breath while tasting the air.
That fateful day which I didn't know would come so soon. I saw the light when he pulled my and ran with me to a place which looked like paradise. The perfect sanctuary I dreamt of.
He simply opened his arms wide and said," Welcome to WriterVana."
The homely atmospheres made me forget all the pain I had been through. It was the perfect place for soul healing...
Isle of Serenity
The Isle of Serenity is an island of tranquility and a good getaway for Great Scholars, writers, and poets alike. They gather at the isle to congregate with one another. Some gather to ease the stress of the world from behind the void itself. Others gather to help and teach newcomers in hopes of helping them become better writers and have their stories recognized in the pantheon of literature arts.
Every author that visits has the potential to be a great author. Despite their fears and anxiety of showing their work, the isle has mentors to offer proper guidance, teachings, and motivation. Any author, young or old, can be worthy of joining the writer's pantheon. However, the writers themselves must have the courage to pick up the pen and write for their stories.
A sacred gathering of people from all walks of life meet! The "General" is a place within the Isle of Tranquility, a place where knowledge and wisdom are shared, a place where friendship begins, and a place where rivalry and disputes are made.
Outsiders who first enter the world will come to General and be greeted by the populace known as the "Welcoming Party." Known to be maniacally jolly people, those who arrived will be greeted by warm welcomes from this party. Even the general populace will greet and cheer the arrival of a new fellow member. But not all that happens in General are jolly events and happy people. Disputes and crimes will plague any civilized land like weeds. Hence, the lands assembled an organization full of extraordinary people that shall keep the law and order of this land: the Magistrates and Sheriffs.
With swift and decisive action, the Magistrates end any problems that arise, keeping peace and order while interacting and chatting with the locals. As a local of this land, chatting with the people in General and indulging with a bit of tomfoolery, I call this home.
Within the fabled lands of WriterVana, there used to be towering kingdoms, that dwarfed the countryside around them and sought but one simple thing each: magnificent writing. However amidst the ever present power struggle, these breathtaking kingdoms crumbled to the ground. For the longest time, citizens of the fallen lands were left without their homes, unsure of where they’d rest each night.
But then, one such former citizen found themself trekking through the decimated lands of their once glorious home, wishing for the days of old to return to them. As if perceiving the lonely citizen’s wish, a brilliant snowy owl descended upon them and pierced them with an unnerving stare.
Follow me, for I have a place where you may experience the glory days of the kingdoms of old. The joys of that never-ending challenge for more, but without the steady, looming threat of others coming to destroy what you love once again.
The words flew around the snowy owl as if similar to the flow of music, pulsing with power and the promise of safety.
Follow me, and I will bring you to your newest paradise.
And so they did, trekking after the snowy owl through the wreckage until they arrived at a part of the kingdoms they’d never seen before. It was small, quaint even, but it was livelier than the kingdoms had ever been. Tucked away between the destroyed buildings, down a faintly lit alleyway laid their new home. Lanterns hung from the few newly erected homes scattered on each side bathing the area in a soft orange glow. When the citizen turned their head to spot the owl that had rescued them from their plight, it was gone. A soft voice broke through their thoughts before they could truly wonder where it had gone.
“Hello there, you must be new… My name is Elysian, and this is Caffeine, please come in. The Author’s Alley welcomes all.”
Cafe on the Block
Sick and tired of writer's block? Come to this cute little cafe, stuck in a corner somewhere. An underground cafe where writers come together to share ideas, this coffee shop is the perfect place to enjoy good company and creative prompts. The coffee is excellent, the pastries are mouthwatering, and the conversations are enticing. And who knows? You may just walk out with a fresh bag of Motivation to Write.
The Caffy Pond
The starry night, bright dots adorning heaven's blackness, stretched until the sea met the sky. Even in the velvet darkness, the light of the stars shined behind the dim blanket. Though tonight, the darkness covered the pond with its blanket. Cold, wet leaves floated on the clear-colored water, and the croaking of frogs resounded; cracked bell-notes in the twilight.
Beside the pond was a coffee shop, abandoned, but it still looked as if it was treated with care every day. The distant summer days returned to me; those days where a coffee cup was such a blessing, so divine. Sometimes, one would be waiting for me, so plain, and loved all the more for it. Within it was a swirling golden glaze sat the swirling hues of the brew, every shade of brown I adored, blending so perfectly.
However, there was no such cup for tonight.
I heard people pray at the pond, "Caffy of the Pond, share us your wisdom.", and I'll always smile at their determination to cherish it. They were convinced they were mortals compared to this being, but I believed it was a mere coffee bean. I also heard some say it was really "Caffy of the Cafe" since the caffeine was bad for the sea life in the pond, though I would only chuckle at the thought.
The coffee was breathtaking here, as if each drop was created with love and care just within the small shop. Maybe, it truly did impart wisdom, like the others have said.
Especially that one person I passed by, who continued to spread the story of this place; "Buy a cup of Caff's coffee and drink for a day, buy a Caffie and drink for liffie." Maybe, they have made that coffee pet I heard on my way here?
I sigh, turning and beginning to leave the pond. Though, instead of giving the area a solemn look, I presented to it a bow of gratitude. I silently promised to continue the story, and to share the wisdom it has shared to me.
With one coffee cup at a time.
Some people amidst the lands of WriterVana speak in hushed whispers about a beautiful field of flowers, framed by sakura trees. Surrounded by mountains, the area is offered some level of careful seclusion from the rest of this little piece of nirvana. It’s often been said that the path leading to this pretty little grove is lined with vibrant flowers, stark against the grass around them and not a weed in sight.
And so, that’s how you spot the path one day, eyes catching a glimpse of pinks and reds among the dark grass. It’s like something about this path compels you to follow it. Your feet are moving along the spiraling rows of flowers as you seek out this mystical field of flowers to see it for yourself. The further the path pulls you in, the more flowers you see, surrounded by a peaceful rainbow of petals. You’ve made it.
The first thing your eyes come to settle on is a young calf, or what appears to be one, colored in vibrant pinks and a flower crown balanced on her head. She perks up when she sees you, eyes sparkling as her head lifts to meet your eyes. You can see a pink ribbon tied neatly around her now too. As if on cue, another creature slips through the field of flowers, this one bounding towards you in excitement. The little fox’s fur is shades of dark purple with small sakura blossoms bursting forth from its tail. Even smaller vines surround him, wrapping around his front paws almost protectively as he tackles you to the ground. Chuckling, you run a hand through the little fox’s fur as the young calf nears you followed by yet another creature of sorts.
This one has two heads, one almost smiling with joy and the other leveling you with a careful stare. It’s a brilliant white with gold accents adorning it near its paws and tail, the metallic notes shimmering in the light.
“Welcome, welcome! You’ve made it to the Alcove! A home for all Aesthetics. Come, come, you need to meet Peckii, our leader.”
You’re not really sure which of them says it, but you stumble to your feet and follow the three further into the area you’ve found yourself in. You’re led deeper, and yet still deeper in until they guide you to a crack in one of the mountains that opens into a tiled path. It’s not long before houses come into view, all pale shades of the rainbow, with dark roofs so as not to detract from the beauty of the outside.
Your eyes fall upon the largest of the buildings, a pretty shade of pink — rather similar to the young calf’s own coloring — that stands a story above the rest. A white trellis covered in flowering vines leans against one side of the beautifully decorated home. On the other end of the house there’s a young bonsai tree; it sits nearest to the door on a little, hand crafted wooden table. Before you can let your eyes take in anymore scenery a voice sounds behind you and you spin around to see who it may be.
“Ah hello! I see Bella, Sen, Pulcher and Turpis found you? I’m sorry if they were a bit of a handful; they get excited when they realize a new person is coming to join us here. This is the Alcove, and oh wow, I forgot, I’m Peckii. I'm sure Apple is around here somewhere... Let me show you around, and we'll see if we can find them.”
The Noxlumen is one of WriterVana’s most famed flowers. Native to the Aesthetic Alcove, the Noxlumen usually start sprouting mid-spring, but they don’t bloom until the first week of summer. They are beautiful flowers that are one of WriterVana’s main exports.
What makes the Noxlumen so special is their coloring. The petals have a pink blush tone to them, and during the day most non-natives pay them no mind. They are still pretty, under the warm sunshine, but at night is when they truly become a sight to see.
At exactly dusk, the petals of the Noxlumen start to turn from a pale pink to a deep lavender, and as the hue of the petals change, so does the brightness. The flower starts to glow under the moonlight, illuminating fields, and forests, and planters alike. Some scientists call it a rare form of bioluminescence, but most WriterVanians choose not to question the nature of the Noxlumen.
Many natives choose to use Noxlumen in planters on the front of their homes, and some even use the flowers to line paths up to their front doors so their friends and family can find their way home well into the night. Though most Noxlumen grow in the wild, because while it is possible to replant them in a home or garden, once the flower is picked (read: broken at the stem) it will lose its nighttime glow and remain pale pink until all the petals have wilted.
No one was sure it existed for the longest of times, for it was that far hidden from society and the world of WriterVana itself. It was treated as a figment of your imagination, and those who claimed to have seen its walls were mocked and laughed at. Believed that they were spinning tall tales in order to garner attention, the self proclaimed ouroboros from Lore Lane weren’t easily trusted. The younger generation held out hope that perhaps Lore Lane did exist, and that it was out there somewhere, but those who’d traveled WriterVana’s lands for years without so much as witnessing the apparent end of the world scoffed and insisted it wasn’t real. You were one of those, having wandered your way across this little nirvana for ages and had never seen Lore Lane. One day, as you stood in the center of one of these towns, passing stories along to the youngsters scurrying around, a small voice caught your attention.
“Can we hear about Lore Lane?”
You fought the urge to laugh at the wonder in their eyes when you conceded and started to weave the tale as you had many times before. A flash of gold cut you off mid-way, the metallic sheen glittering in the distance amidst the shrubs. Tilting your head in an intrigued motion, you wave another older member over and request for them to finish the tale before stepping into the shrubs and after the glittering light. The gold shimmered and shone, drifting further and further from you as you forced your way through the overgrowth for several minutes until your boots hit bricks.
A path wove its way through the trees, sparkling in the low light as though made of metal itself, and so you did the only thing you could think to do. You followed it. Minutes turned to hours turned to days as you trekked on, only stopping to set up camp every so often with resources you’d scrounged up on the way. You weren’t really sure why, but you had to see this through.
The sound of music fell upon you as you neared closer to what was hopefully your destination. It was triumphant, trumpets blaring as a pair of worn, gold gates came into your vision. They stood tall, guarding the entry to… well, you didn’t know. It seems you’d found wherever you’d been heading to, but now… what now? Having stood and pondered for too long, you didn’t notice the gates open and a small group of people exiting with knowing smiles.
“Welcome to Lore Lane, named after the path that seeks you out to bring you here. Come in, let’s get you a warm meal and a place to rest.” A soft hand took your own and pulled you along, towards an ancient castle standing above the rest of the city. Your eyes widened comically as you spotted a dragon tucked around the castle itself, head nestled against the door and eyes shut. Small plumes of smoke drifted from it as it slept soundly protecting its home. “Ignore Idris, they’re harmless, really. Besides, they don’t bite that hard.” The tone was playful, but you still tensed at the implications.
“Now, now, don’t go scaring the new citizens away. I take it that is why you’re here, right?” Another voice chirped. You spun around, confused until a literal sparrow landed on your shoulder. “Hello, hello, you can just call me Sparrow. Now, come on, let’s find you a vacant room.” The bird chirped again and you laughed softly at the realization the sparrow itself was speaking to you. After the last several days, nothing should’ve surprised you, so you followed the kind citizen inside and listened contently as the bird tweeted out information about the town to you.
As a whole, WriterVana was a busy, bustling world, and suffice to say, that wasn’t everyone’s speed. There were a fair few who favored the peace and quiet few areas offered. They would seek these areas out, happy to escape the chaos for a chance at solitude and some semblance of calm. You’d been told in passing of the quaint, little town off in the distance named Verse Village and pondered making the move to settle there. People spoke of the village as though it was another world entirely, so separated from WriterVana’s chaotic nature that it brought its inhabitants a level of contentment few other places could achieve.
On a particularly chaotic day, you’d reach your breaking point, packing a single bag and following the prettily decorated signs guiding you to the village. Anything had to be better than the excited shouting and loud bickering you’d left behind, and as you turned on a dirt path, you smiled softly to yourself. Of course they’d opted for a more natural path; it somehow seemed perfectly fitting.
The small houses were built of pale woods, reminiscent of the trees that were scattered around the village itself. You could hear quiet murmurs as you stepped carefully into the village’s town center, and the entire group silenced as you leaned towards someone to ask where the leader of this little village was. The person merely chuckled and nodded behind you. With a confused stare, you spun around to see someone holding a platter of cookies and other assorted baked goods. A second person stood behind them with a tray that balanced a couple cups of tea on top of it, each cup steaming as though freshly steeped. You smiled and took one of the proffered cups as well as a small muffin from the platter of baked goods.
“We’d heard through a few people that you were planning to come out this way, so we wanted to make sure we could welcome you properly. My name is Hannie. This is Moonie, my wife. Welcome to Verse Village.”
The Four Guilds
Aesthetic, Lore, Verse, Authors. Four powerful guilds that lived together in Peace. Each unique to their own people.
There are the citizens of the Aesthetic Alcove, known for their ability to bring what they draw to life. They can pull beings from pictures and breath life into these very beings that they choose. They are headed by the leader Peckii, known for their wise thoughts and kind words. They build foundations for their stories by just painting stroke by stroke to create their ideas. They live in a quiet flower filled village protected by the forest they call home; living in the trees in beautiful pink and green tree houses.
If you follow the road leading from the forest to a nearby river, you will find the great town of Authors Alley heading by the strong and brilliant leader Rose. This guild is praised for their amazing ability to write down ideas that happen to an extent. They can write down events that lead to their favor. They have the elegance and touch to create this writing of ideas and have the strength to carry them out if not succeeded. They flow like the river but stand powerful like a tsunami. They live in huts that are a a light peachy brown due to the clay of the river. Near the bright blue river you will find the leader Rose telling great stories of Wars from the past as others sit and write the very words.
Now if you take a ride down the river you'll come across Lore Lane near a cliff. They have great grey and white buildings floating on air contrasting that of this world. The stoic leader of this Lane, Sparrow, welcomes new visitors while followed by a great beast. This village, one would notice, is full of mystical and unique beasts. Sparrow is followed by a giant, fierce, green dragon that protects the area. The people all have the ability to summon a mystical pet grounded in fire abilities. This includes even original beasts no one has thought of before. They are crazy, but strong willed.
Beneath this cliff holds the silent village of Verse Village. They are a timid and silent bunch known for being some of the best healers on the nation. Their poems and songs can heal even the worst of pains and ease the biggest of fears. Hannie, a soft and gentle leader, is known as the strongest of this village's healers. Hannie lead the people to the caves beneath the cliffs along with Moon, Hannie's beloved wife, to protect the healers as they recall the horrors of past wars and events. They feel as if their is going to be a war and they are ready to help during times of need and are known as a peaceful and gentle village. They built a safe haven between the black, onyx caves with doors made of white pearl like vines.
The Forest of Woe
Deep in the lands of WriterVana, in a place forgotten to time, lies a forest. The Forest of Woe. There was a time, many eons ago, when it was a place bustling with life. Where birds would chirp and the kids would play while the men and women went about their trade, collecting the fruit and root that the forest so kindly provided for them.
No one knows why the place is not visited anymore. It seems as if it just cannot be seen, as if it were covered by the mist of a powerful illusion, to shield it from common view. But somewhere, in some small inn, a wizard tells his apprentice about the forest. How it exists in plain view and yet how none can see it. How it is filled with dark magic, inhabited by the sorrowful soul of a forsaken bard, who seeks to this day, for the love of his life, playing her favorite music, along with symphonies of his longing and sorrow.
Those who shall enter the forest shall never come out, for they are lost in the love of the forlorn bard. They weep for him when he is sad and they rejoice for him when he feels a fervor of the madness of his eternal solitude.
And such is the legend of the Forest of Woe.
"Clam Clam"! What was that? A bird? The wind? The noise of a hundred chanting in unison as their leader strikes a gong? Maybe. Nobody knows what creates these ethereal noises that echo back and forth during the night. The soft creeping chants seem to echo down from above, like there’s something hidden behind the soft cotton candy clouds and the sun that paints the world pink. Citizens of WriterVana often whisper amongst themselves, wondering what could be up there. Is it Heaven, or just a clam-focused cult? No matter the speculations, one thing is true: Every citizen yearns to be the first one to reach the clouds and explore whatever awaits within them.
The Clam Dealer
It is said that occasionally, a single clam is dropped from the skies, to be clam-taked by a lucky individual. These drops are just perceived to be a joke, something that cannot be used with little to no actual value. But there is someone who will happily take your clams! The people who have traded with this mysterious fellow dub him as “The Clam Dealer.”
This person will take your clams with great glee, and in return, bless you with good luck and fortune your way! People still holding on to their clams hope that one day, they will cross paths with this individual who will brighten their hard lives of committing to be a writer.
The Rampant Vibe Tidal Waves
You can hear it through a conch shell -- the sea! And with it, the vibes. WriterVana's tidal waves, a sight to behold, and visited all year long. The crashing waves create the perfect ambience for writing, reading, or just straight up vibin'. It sheds its vibes onto the surrounding WriterVanians. Only good vibes, unless the weather is bad! Never visit the beach on a bad day, as they say. Make sure to eat before you visit it, and maybe leave some food for the ocean before you leave; waves need their energy to be this vibey, you know.
Deep within the corners of WriterVana, lies a land of sanctuary hidden from plain sight. While the inhabitants of WriterVana carry through their day, engaging in lively conversations - there are those who lurk within the shadows, watching their every move.
Lurk Land is a safe space for those who prefer conversing in silence. Observant, cunning, and quick to react, these careful individuals - or as they prefer to be called Lurkers - would rather watch than engage. Every conversation, every disagreement, every movement is observed. No living being in WriterVana would ever be safe. Though, most of the time, the people of Lurk Land are friendly individuals, casually fitting in with the rest of WriterVana.
Nobody knows where this mysterious Lurk Land is. Frankly, nobody besides the Lurkers has ever been to this fabled place. Some theorised that it is part of Clam Land, some theorised that this place simply does not exist. There is no telling, after all, those who live in Lurk Land, never tell.
The Whispering Waterfall
Sometimes, you need to escape. Sometimes, you need to breathe and remind yourself to take a step back.
Sitting on a rock at the bottom of The Whispering Waterfall is a perfect place for that. Tuck in your knees, close your eyes, and allow your thoughts to dissolve away. Feel the wind blowing in your hair, the gentle rushing of the water, and the clarity seeping into your mind with each passing second. Listen close and you might hear the gentle humming from the Arcane Antre. Bend over the edge and you might see the blurred sparkles from the Quartz Coral Barrier Reef. Feel yourself start to slip away as you become wholly one with the scenery around you.
The Arcane Antre
A cave only for those that enter if they dare. There are myths of treasures and gold and magic within the deep crevices of the cave. Entire portals to different dimensions could be held in there. But who knows? No one has dared to enter for centuries. Not after an entire party attempted an exploration and not a single being came back out. Were they never able to come back, or did they choose to never come back? The world may never know…
Those that have stopped just shy of the entrance, however, have reported quiet hums of beautiful singing. Hums of longing, pleading, wishing, happiness, and sorrow. Who is singing? Why are they singing? The world may never know…
The Southern Hot Spring of Consistency
Many tales have been told of the wondrous hot spring down south, turquoise and beautiful and surrounded by plants no man can name. It's known as a lovely place to bathe and relax by those who have tried it -- because only survivors get to tell their story. Truthfully, one must be careful when stepping into the water; only those who write each day, consistently, will leave it unmelted.
A small little meadow tucked away in the secret corners of the lands. Flowers of every color and every shape crowd together to form a soft bed of petals, perfect for lying down in to make shapes out of clouds or connect dots in the constellations. Come alone to talk with the moon or bring a beloved to share an intimate moment of silence.
The Moon's Lake
Located next to the Ethereal Enclosure, the Moon's Lake comes from the tears of the moon. By legend, when the world of WriterVana was still forming, the moon was alone in the dark, dark abyss of the skies. It wept in solitude, and its tears formed a lake. Around the lake, enchanting flowers grow, which would later become the Ethereal Enclosure, but the moon could spare no eyes for this beauty, when its heart was alone.
Things only changed on the night the stars were born. They dried the tears of the moon with delightful stories and fun, teaching the moon what true light and happiness was. Its tears, which once reflected its loneliness, now mirrored the joy of laughter and celebration.
Travelers who visit the Moon's Lake can catch a bit of this celestial joy for themselves if they peer at their reflection for long enough. However, due to everyone's desire to find happiness, the crowds that gather around the lake can be quite large, year-round. The Moon's Lake may gift happiness, but the happiness comes at the price of brutal competition between individuals that visit the lake.
At times, the lands of WriterVana can be flooded with chaos. But there is a secret place, a place where all would be welcomed, if you are able to find it. Dive down deep below the waters of Moon's Lake, and if you're lucky, you'll find Otzi, guarding the doors to the place sea creatures and merfolk call home. Find the guard, find the door. Go in, and you'll never want to leave. For the sanctuary will always and forever be your home.
There’s a place near Moon’s Lake that’s really no better than a pile of rocks.
It’s five miles to the west, and most people who stumble upon it are rarely ever looking for it. It’s unmarked on most WriterVana maps, a non-existent landmark that’s more than a little far off the nearest road. Adventurers are usually curious about it, even though it’s not much of a secret, just another piece of history that’s been turned into folklore.
The ruins of an old temple sit desolate a few miles away from the lake. The vague outline of the old sanctuary is still laid out in stone, but no wall stands taller than waist level. Grass and weeds have grown over most of the flooring, with moss piling on to all other eroding structures.
It was never a particularly big temple, and its remote location probably didn’t encourage many worshipers. In fact, rumor has it that even in its prime the temple wasn’t much to look at. Just four walls and a roof.
But there, where the front door used to rest, stands The Archway—ten feet tall and made of the same stone as the foundation. Cracking, crumbling, wearing away with each passing day, and yet it still holds up as the last distinguishing feature of the temple.
Written across the top of the arch, in the old language of WV, reads: Look to the Stars.
Whether this was originally a tribute to some kind of deity, a reference to some artwork on display, or just a casual reminder to stare up at the Heavens every now and again, no one knows for sure. But the legend of The Archway goes like this:
If you stand in the ruins of the old temple and Look to the Stars long enough to see one falling, to see one shooting across the sky, whatever magic still lays in the stones of the foundation casts a faint glow inside The Archway, a phenomenon believed to be the opening of a doorway that accepts the passage of one being before closing again.
The thing is—nobody knows where the doorway leads to.
And nobody has ever come back.
The Nooks and Crannies
Due West of known land of WriterVana, and West of the lands after that, you should find yourself amongst a gorge conquered by color. These colors come in the form of holes, holes punched and meticulously crafted, holes in our realm that show the ideas untold. The tales begun but never ended, thoughts scrawled into a sentence but not expanded. These are universes by which we might get a scant gaze, but little more than that. On occasion, they are taken, expanded, these holes become doors, doors to gateways and gateways expanded to stories. Here, however, you shall find shards of creativity, aglow and awaiting their chance to become true tales.
The Writing Contest
Every month, a contest meant to hone and challenge the skills of the people of WriterVana begins and ends. These are the times where everyone crosses their fingers and hopes to win. These are the times where authors and aspiring writers work endlessly on their precious story to win the hearts of the Wise Sages. Yet no one seems to know how they started...
One day, a young child walked to the Meadow alone. They were hoping to be able to suggest a way to challenge writers, especially those whose skills could bloom into something even greater. After that, no one is really sure what happened. Some say that the young child went through many trials to start the first contest. Others believe that their suggestion was accepted without question. But this is the version most known:
The child’s parents gazed back at them. “What is it? Something wrong?” The mother asked.
“What? No, of course not!” They laughed at his words. “I’m going to go to the Meadow, but I might not be back after a while.”
“Well,” Their father sighed. “Get back before dinner, that should be enough time to play.”
The kid rushed up to their parents and gave them a big hug. “Right! Thanks!” And they ran off.
The child sprinted through the lush, green grass. There was no time for admiring it though, not to them. “Where is it... where is- THERE!” The child’s face started forming a wide smile. They had spotted it! The mystical clover where citizens could leave suggestions for improving the lands of WriterVana. But then, their eyes started widening in fright. It was almost night! “Right!” The child said in annoyance. “It’s Daylight Savings Time!” They ran as fast as they could to the clover, messily wrote down their suggestion, then did a 180 and practically flew back home for dinner. And that, people, is how the Writing Contests started.
Tranquil Creek and Elisa
Deep in the wild of WriterVana, hidden by those who wish to preserve the site, is the infamous Tranquil Creek. The birds chirp, the flowers bloom, and mushrooms grow along the water’s edge. Often found sunbathing on a rock in the middle of the river is a legendary turtle, Elisa. All the children of WriterVana are brought up on the stories of Elisa.
The legend goes that if one should ever cross her path, they are to submit their latest written work for review, flinging it at her on their knees. Only then will she allow you to carry on with your day. And then, when you least expect it, Elisa will appear in front of you with a list of formulated points to improve your writing, bow, and waddle back to her rock on top of the creek. Practically a WriterVana mascot, small children will often run around, looking for her as they start their writing careers. Any person who has been critiqued by the infamous turtle often ends up critiquing others’ work too, as a thanks to the legend.