Canyon Cappola (TheNomad)
Bio
Horse Archer, RPG Gamer, and part time Writer of Character based stories.
I hope you enjoy!
Stories (125)
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Dodge Tanner and the Heated Hand
In the blaze-washed heart of Cinderhold, where tempers burn hotter than the black-glass forges and grudges are carried like treasured heirlooms passed down from generation to generation, there are things you just don’t do: insult someone’s lineage, complain about the incessant heat, or, gods help you, cheat at their favored game of cards, Red Rock Flow.
By Canyon Cappola (TheNomad)7 months ago in Fiction
Selis Weaver - The Threadkeeper
The town of Haverford thrived in the quiet spaces between fortune and hardship. The wind carried the scents of fresh bread and tilled earth through the streets of Haverford, weaving between market stalls and bustling townsfolk. To most, the town was a simple place, hardworking, unremarkable, shaped by the ebb and flow of fortune. But one among them saw beyond the surface, beyond chance, beyond the unpredictable turns of life. Selis Weaver saw deeper. She did not believe in luck, nor chance, nor randomness. She believed in the weave, the intricate pattern of fate that bound every soul together. And she was its keeper.
By Canyon Cappola (TheNomad)7 months ago in Fiction
Sylwen Thornshade - The Verdant Warden
Sylwen Thornshade - The Verdant Warden The wind carried whispers through the towering oaks of Forend’s Forest, weaving between emerald leaves and tangled vines. Here, amidst the deep roots and ancient thickets, Sylwen Thornshade walked in silent communion with the land. She was one of Silvanna’s chosen, a vessel, a voice, a guardian of Nature. Every breath Sylwen took was an oath to the goddess, a vow to maintain the balance between life and destruction.
By Canyon Cappola (TheNomad)7 months ago in Fiction
Thurgrim Ironhold - The Hammer of Eniche
Thurgrim Ironhold - The Hammer of Eniche The moon hung low over the ruined chapel, its pale light casting long shadows through broken archways and shattered stained glass. The once-holy ground had become a desecrated battlefield, littered with the rattling remains of the restless dead. They clawed forward, skeletal hands grasping at the dwarf who stood in their path, his breath steaming in the cold night air.Thurgrim Ironhold tightened his grip around his weapon—a massive spiked maul, the head of which was adorned with jagged steel, each edge blessed by the unyielding will of Eniche. His armor, plated and brutal, bristled with spikes of its own, a reflection of the god he served. A deity of war, of discipline, of strength unbroken in the face of evil.
By Canyon Cappola (TheNomad)7 months ago in Fiction
Dodge and the Elemental Fire Ale
With an audible ‘Snap-Crackle-Ouch!’, Dodge’s worn boots skidded across the scorched rock beneath him, leaving behind the distinct scent of singed leather and nearly sending him sliding into the worst bath of his life in a pool of lava. He landed in a crouch, panting, the merciless heat of the cavern clawing at his lungs like an overeager blacksmith testing his forge.
By Canyon Cappola (TheNomad)7 months ago in Fiction
Dodge Tanner & the Lesson of the Lake
Dodge should have known better. Was there ever a better epitaph for his tombstone? Dodge was not a man easily deterred. Years of stubborn resilience had served him well—whether in navigating the treacherous cliffs of Lysia or fending off Tamsin's incessant boasting about her precious Dragonettes.
By Canyon Cappola (TheNomad)8 months ago in Fiction
Dodge Tanner: The Boy Who Cried 'Fish'!: (The Battle of Lake Hearth)
Dodge Tanner had fished near every inch of the placid waters of Lake Hearth since he was old enough to hold a rod, but nothing, nothing, had prepared him for his unexpected confrontation with Grandfather Trout.
By Canyon Cappola (TheNomad)8 months ago in Fiction
Dodge Tanner and the Great Blink Mink Accords
Dodge knew the moment he stepped onto his porch. The minks had been here. It wasn’t just instinct—it was experience. His cabin, snugly nestled in his private clearing by the glimmering waters of Lake Hearth, was meant to be his peaceful retreat. Instead, it had become the epicenter of an escalating war of catastrophic proportions. The site of a never-ending battle of wits against a foe more clever and cunning than any of his illustrious career.
By Canyon Cappola (TheNomad)8 months ago in Fiction
Dodge Tanner’s Highly Unrecommended Travelogue - #78: An Unwanted, Unwarranted, Game of Tag
Dodge prided himself on being many things—a skilled gatherer, an expert climber, and, most importantly, someone who rarely made a fool of himself. Unfortunately, today was shaping up to be an exception.
By Canyon Cappola (TheNomad)8 months ago in Fiction
Dodge Versus possibly the most Deadly, Implacable, Foe yet.... Administrative Paperwork.
The trouble started the moment Dodge Tanner walked into Wayfinder Headquarters, the air thick with the scent of old parchment, ink, and the faint, oppressive musk of mind-numbing misery. He had joked, on more than one occasion—that paperwork was a blight upon the world, a slow-acting poison that emptied the brain & drained the soul with every quill stroke. Today, however, he was not joking.
By Canyon Cappola (TheNomad)8 months ago in Fiction
Dodge Tanner’s Highly Unrecommended Travelogue - #116: Mushrooms, Mistakes, and Mad dashes
Dodge had made this trip enough times to consider himself an expert at gathering Stonecap Fungus. Always with a single firm twist, no pulling, tearing, or cutting. Respectful pace. Easy enough.
By Canyon Cappola (TheNomad)8 months ago in Fiction
Dodge and the Tragedy of Tailoring: Measure twice, Cut Once. Replace weekly!
The bell above the door of Nimbleman’s Fine Clothiers jingled with practiced exasperation, more of a weary sigh than a welcoming chime, signaling the latest return of Dodge, serial destroyer of fine tailoring & a familiar figure of destruction and poor textile preservation.. He strode in, his satchel brimming with the unmistakable scent of charred leather and singed fabric. Wisps of smoke still curled lazily from his coat. His hat—poor, tragic thing—had several large, jagged holes burned straight through it, as though it had tried and failed to reason with a particularly aggressive bonfire and bore the unmistakable marks of a blade’s enthusiastic attempt to perforate it beyond recognition.
By Canyon Cappola (TheNomad)8 months ago in Fiction
