In a cataclysm known as the Nightfall, the worlds were almost completely destroyed by a harrowing surge of darkness.
In the shadows of the ensuing chaos a new group has taken shape. Led by an Aegyl named Kalos, the 11th Hour touts an esoteric knowledge of how to combat the darkness and restore the worlds. They might be the worlds’ best chance at survival; but nobody really knows enough about them to confirm or deny their claims.
On the brink of collapse, the universe holds its breath in anticipation. Of restoration? Of destruction? It is up to individuals like yourself to decide.
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There aren't enough praises in the world I'd like to give to wonderful coders for the Proboards community. The following have contributed to World Destiny in some way: W3 Schools for countless how-tos and countless of other souls who have helped get WD up to where it is.
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ya'know... i thought why not hold a contest huh? why not right xD
well... as the thing states it's music and poetry... so if you play an instrument or sing really well... put up some sort of video or music file or sumthin... or if you write, than write poetry or your own lyrics or something...
i personally am a musician but i'll be making my entry later xD
have fun and remember... if you think it's good... than it's good
Year after year winter rises against summer and vice-versa Flowers bloom, leaves change and die and someone comes to dance in my April showers until the snow comes again, veiling everything under white and grey skies and while I know winter is not endless I do wonder when April will come again to make the flowers bloom.
Let's paint the world, just you and me! Paint it right, how we see it to be! From black and white to rainbow colors, Let's work on this masterpiece for countless hours!
From the dull grays of the city streets, With the music creating images with their beats! Paint the trees, paint the ocean, paint the grass, Let's just paint it all and make it last.
It's our world now, our personal playground. We'll laugh and just look at all the colors around. This is our dream... perhaps our paradise, To be in a place we've created, isn't it just nice?
Weaver of words? Heh... that's a delight Never once did I see myself in such light. Your ink overflowing, scribble your word One day, yours will be heard.
Oh, Weave of Words, are you so blind to see That I am not like you, unable to be? The words you weave have meaning and life, Mine just seem to pass by; an unsharpened knife.
One day your inkwell will run dry Then who will be here to write, to stop the cry? I suppose that's me, the one without skill, But I'll weave when you cannot, simply because I will.
