Mine: I was writing a novel called 'The Black Shepherd'. The protagonist had a sword called Azmacna, so, on another forum I called myself 'Azmacna' as you do. ... I contributed a lot to that forum (Writersbeat) and eventually got a half decent reputation for giving good advise. A good friend of mine called 'Queeny' coined the term 'The Mighty Az' and here I am.
Just for fun, here's the opening to that novel. DON'T JUDGE! lol
The day began like every other: with the weary thought of breathing. Drogue longed for the sweet, soft sheets of eternity; the forever nothingness. Death would be his ultimate prize, the end of a journey spent offering others such sanctuary.
Sorrow was the cape he wore, adorned by the souls of those he had slain, each black jewel a remnant of the dead. Sorrow shivered. Its jewels blinked. From time to time, when light permitted, faces would appear in supplication, screaming at the world in torment before receding back into their tiny, circular cells. By his side, the very thing that woke him, the very thing that made him long for eternal sleep, his sword, Azmacna. His fingers crept to the hilt, curled about its leather like a lover, while his eyes—the colour of oil—ran with the intrusion of day.
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