Shadoweagle's Profile

Lavish glade and lush green field,

Wizen'd oaks; to the blight all yield.

Weeping trees of crimson blood,

the Fields of Flesh turn life to mud.

Will you tread and smile and sleep

where devils dance and angels weep?

And behold the fabled mists of the necromatic sorceror, E'grole. Fifteen square miles do they span, the unnaturally thick, eerie fog instilling a sense of dread in even the most hardy of adventurers.

These mites fly silently and are small enough to be nearly invisible to the naked eye. If it was not for light, no one would know they were there. These creatures absorb and re-emmit light, turning dim to bright, and bright to blinding.