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  2. The Unmarked Path: Wood Wraith by Mayfly-Writer on DeviantArt
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  4. 96: An Unmarked Path
  5. Taking on the World, One City, One Project at a Time

Google Map. Map Key. To-Do's Check-Ins. Trail shared by David LoPresti. Weather Getting forecast Maritime Hammock Sanctuary 2. Florida Institute of Technology Botanical Garden 0. Erna Nixon Park 0. Navigate on-trail with our free app. Hiked this trail? Add details to help others plan their adventure.

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Make a suggestion Mapped Wrong? Dogs Allowed? GPX File. This is a trail that is mostly on old fire breaks in the palmettos; a lot of fun but a slow, hard hike. The last bit is not marked well but I hope to have it marked by the end of May Read More. Add Check-In. Rate Quality. Rate Difficulty No obstacles. Save Check-In. Rate This Trail Rate Quality. Check In Check-Ins none.

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The Unmarked Path: Wood Wraith by Mayfly-Writer on DeviantArt

Posting things online is still a very surreal and nerve-wracking event for me. Sure, no prob. I actually sort of want to design the character I described a bit ago, just cause the whole concept of the world seems cool. I'll upload it if it's alright with you. And yeah, I'm always a bit anxious about uploading my work. Dont be afraid to post stuff man, you have put out a lot of really great things already! Very cool drawing! Also like the idea you are portraying, and how it ties into the image.

You get this twisted, nonsensical feeling thinking about it. I kind of wonder if someone with sufficient will power finds themselves at the Ends of the Earth, if they could bend it to their will. From what I'm getting, everything there is malleable, in a state of constant flux, but it has an overpowering force that keeps in from resolving or solidifying itself into a single reality. Like it is easy for things to change but difficult to maintain any single reality, as well as avoid being changed yourself at the same time.

It kind of reminds me of the "outside" from the Ender's game universe, where anything that comes to your mind simply springs into existence. The actual creature was something I had in my head for a long, long time, but was never really able to put it to paper. This drawing in particular has been changed bit by bit for a few weeks, but I could probably make them faster as I got more practice.

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It seems like what you described has a lot of what I was going for, so you're doing pretty well dark, twisted, unfamiliar, nonsensical! And while I am saying it is in a constant state of change, that constant change seems centered around a very ancient world. I have an obsession with mountains, forests, and folklore, so this is basically an area to explore that.

I would consider the world fantasy, but not as in a medieval fantasy, more of a folkloric, mythic, almost dark fable-like setting. Most of the people that would end up here are wanderers, woodcutters, hunters, frontiers-people, and such, which is another sort of theme I like. The constant change is also very subtle, such as walking down a long path, only to look behind you and find no trace of it.

Then, you look forward again and there's an enormous mountain that wasn't there before. It will slowly drive you mad. Those who learn how to manipulate the Winds the force of change are able to create permanent dwellings, shape change within reason. So, there may be people naturally better, but if you have the right materials and willpower, you can have a form of manipulation here. If I get more time, I may like to post more here, but it's always strange just to lay these ideas out online.

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When you wake, alone. Every morning you don the armor, iron tempered with anger. Words shaped like knives on your tongue. Hide yourself behind the bandages.

The days pass and the scars thicken. Words beget words, fights beget fights. Wounds bleed inside and out. Unlock the door and the house is empty. Bandages crusted with blood and tears. Wrap new over the old. Every word you hear is hurtful, every stranger an enemy.

You lash out and cut open the innocent. You wrap more bandages around yourself. On the schoolyard, the saints play with the devils. Which do you belong to? The Boy has everything and you cut him the worst. He has gripped the shield as you have held the sword, Blocking each razor-edged word. You hate his very nature, People like him are reaped like grain.

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You fear the Boy. He is a mirror to t. With his other hand, he steadied himself to plant his feet against the bars in front of him, stretching to get a few more inches. He landed flat on his back on the soft surface, kicking up a cloud of dust.

96: An Unmarked Path

Max lay still, head swimming as he watched the tiny motes float above him, catching light from the nearby window. The exertion had him sucking in air, but every other breath left him coughing and sputtering. This kicked up another storm of dust that h. Here's a little story from when the kids were a bit smaller well, Max might be the same size of how they react to getting their own rooms. Given the cards that life had dealt the family over the years, that did not surprise Alexis, so she did her very best to keep a calm and peaceful atmosphere in her house.


For all of their sakes, she reasoned. Max needed nurturing, and Sam Children need structure, a place they know will be there whenever they need it. And for herself, she needed to know she could provide that.

Taking on the World, One City, One Project at a Time

Which is what made the next conversation so much more difficult. The mountains rose above him and the woods draped over them like cloth. Ahead, there was a man who was sitting down beneath the wreckage of house and home, the water reaching his chest. The boy could see it was still rising.

I didn't listen. The river took everything. Where is your family? Never did. The river took them. When the house is quiet, she opens it with two keys. One was borrowed and the other was not. She unfolds it like a hand, prying open cold fingers. It beats in time with the rattling window. Sometimes she sees them through the glass Or in the corners of mirrors, But she knows their home is in the photographs now. She folds her heart twice and rests it in the box. Out there, beyond the room, she is the stoic.

She is the shade tree, the stone in sea. Mender of wounds, drier of tears, Storyteller, memory-keeper. Tell me, please. Please tell me. The wounds she hides, who mends them?