A tale of warriors on adventures and worries scared to venture.

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There isn’t always a clear path when staring at a journey. Excuses are unacceptable. Walls are no reason. Spilling the ink is the only truth. Yet, warm masks cry reason.
Without aim or direction an image forms itself. Narratives aren’t born, they’re crafted from struggles. Pointless clicks and scribbles grab hold of the ether and drag down the fantasies pleasantly floating about. Shapeless as they may be alone, collections get named. Ink formed into abstract ideas discussing themselves.
Meanwhile cosplay myths and tales of pens run dry strike fear into the hearts of warriors beginning their path. Religions designed to confuse. Fictions more crippling to the wanderer than the stories eager for design.
But the true explorers don’t fall victim. They travel, even with the fear deep…