A new source of power and wealth - a new source of conflict and danger.
An evil that nurtures evil, a dark mother that is cradle to shadow.
The beast within became the beast without; ferocity and might blossoming in corpore upon the flesh.
A harvest queen, a druid of war, a monarch of leaves.
A fey kingdom fallen, with winter triumphant. A dream frozen, to be thawed by might and heroic deed.
Alive with emotion -
Constantly in motion -
With inner voice, ‘hind innocent face -
a cunning mind -
Metal fairies in the depths of space?
It is the tortured and imperfect souls who most often cannot find a clear path to the afterlife. Weighted down by sins unforgiven, sins for whose forgiveness they never ask, sins they never regretted.
To be added to Remaking Undead when finished
Magic is a blessing and curse, life and death, birth and undoing, a goal and a way.
No walls as far as the eye can see, no gate nor fence, only the mists and wind roam free over the open lands of Kevvar.
In seeking to escape serving the Lord of Ravens many a hope flickered and died, for those who oppose him end up serving him after all.
The greatest of chieftains, uniter of the hordes, harbringer of chaos, many names he held, yet what is the truth behind one of the greatet Orc leaders of all time?
Is it liberation or conquest? Humane thought or wanton deicide?
A malicious ploy to make the divine starve?
An exquisite steed, midnight black, treading like a dancer, its step so light that it does not scar the ground, its stride so fluent that you could sit in the saddle all day… if you needed one. Its golden eyes shine with intelligence and spirit, and it seems to know your every wish. Ah, who would not want such a fine beast to carry him?
Sing to me and I shall write, on lilies, poetry of the night.
A blade of darkest night turned to a different use, to teach and educate the knight?
Known in folk-lore as the Blighted Storm-Serpents, the reclusive Kumbra are far more than any might guess.
It’s not a weapon that kills people, it are the poeple who do so…
If only the one wording such comment knew better!
The mind of a wizard is more open to the more esoteric elements of his surroundings - this is why he is able to perceive the weave of the Great Tapestry that is the multiverse, and pull at the strings. This increased sensitivity can manifest in several ways.
Honor beyond death, duty beyond the grave. An eternity of damnation for an eternity of servitude.
Within the chest of a wizardly tool, there beats a Shard heart, deeming the master a fool.
Cold Comfort is a long-sword of star-steel, its blade giving off a wan, blueish light. Its grip is wrapped tightly in snow-serpent hide, and its pommel bears a single opalescent gemstone.
This blade is enchanted in such a way, that whoever wields it, begins to fall completely and irrevocably "in love" with the weapon. This love does not manifest itself as the expected reverence and bond formed between any warrior and his weapon, but as a deeper, truer love, one has for a soul-mate of the same species! The longer the wielder carries Cold Comfort the stronger and more disturbing this love becomes, and only the most powerful of magicks can potentially break the sword's insidious spell. The blade's owner will even speak to and coo to the weapon, convinced that the sword understands and returns this epic love.
If the blade's wielder somehow loses the weapon or has it taken away, they will become inconsolable, and will predictably go to "ends of the earth and back" to retrieve it at any cost. Such is the weapon's curse that even separation from it does not damper the feelings the owner has for the sword. Legends tell of several distraught and mind-addled knights who even years after losing the blade, still wander the country-side searching for their lost love. And woe be to the "new lover" if and when they find him or her.