A very brief look at some minor Elemental familiars.
One way of getting here, The Concave, is through conflagration of your Soul. Not a nice way to arrive, but at least you'll have the benefit of a guide, unlike most others.
When a thousand years of dust settled upon the worked stone floor of The Grey Tomb, a new sage was born. A creature, of dust, time, age, wisdom. The dust that was once the bodies of ancient wise men. It coalesced and swirled into being, small and wispy, dry as its home. It mutters words of wisdom for no one to hear. Begging its dark home for a soul to learn from.
There are a number of ways to reach The Concave; it seems that falling is one of them, but falling from where?
"Are you lost in the frost?" A lone giant speaks, a cloud of chill air escaping his blue-lipped mouth.
In the distance, through a thick fog, you can see more of them coming out a cave lit by blue light. Almost like a portal to the netherworld is it’s eerie glow. You can feel fear growing in your belly. These aren’t normal giants. Their skin is blue, their hair and eyes silver. Stone jewelry hangs about their bodies making them look like brickwork monsters.
"Tiny man," The leader speaks, icicles breaking and falling from his jowls. "What brings you so far north?"
The Red-Wind Rag; Trappings of a Bloody Death; A Malevolent Sheet of Scarlet and Ichor.
Welcome, Lads, to Thunder Reef. A marvel of magical energies existing in harmony with the local fauna. Here, in Thunder Reef, you can find a large variety of oceanic creatures just overflowing with sonic energy. From the lowly Cacophony Crab, to the mighty Thunder-Squid, we will be taking a look at all of them today.
When you want a horse, but not any horse will do. You don't want a Lord's horse, nor one fit for a King. You want a horse bred for a God.
Be careful of unearthing legends, however.
"They used to be men. Mortal men. But now... I don't know if they are something more... Or something less?"
The poor boy.. Man, I mean. I tend to forget his age, given his appearance...
Dwarven Undead with a hunger that won't be satiated by simply your blood, brains, or flesh.
The follow string of Mirror-folk evolutions, Mihradhz, Mihrral, and Mihradamagus, are collectively known as The Mirr. They are all curious and slightly annoying, each in their own way. They advance through their lives by pestering the rare mortals who visit their plane.
A warped and twisted, low-standing, tree covered in dark bark. It's wild, overgrown tangle of branches creep across the ground in a large circle. The entire thing is covered in a multitude of thorns that shift from a bright acidic green to a deep blood red.
Sometimes walking through a moldering old crypt can be a pleasure. With the smell of bone dust and ancient burial wrappings, almost like a library. Certainly as quiet. Until you step in a patch of Choo Mold.
The Mihradhz shrieked, with a sound like fingernails on slate, as it was dragged headlong into our world by a greedy and uncaring spellcaster whose only desire was to defeat his rivals.
In the dark one morning, the Bloated Black Beast slowly rose to the water's surface. Whence it crested, great gouts of flame erupted from its Misshapen Form and were hurled hundreds of feet in all directions. It dove again, and appeared as nothing more than an Inky Shadow of Malice. With no purpose, It swam on; occasionally cresting and flaming, but still without purpose.
Don't run blindly for the silver vein or you will never see that what you seek is pain.
A simple and fun fantasy octopus ready to be used as an ally, pet, or interesting meal
One day a a wind begins to blow out of the West. The next day it gets stronger. And stronger still the next few days. Eventually (and fortunately), the speed of the wind tops out at a steady fifty miles an hour, but continues to blow. Soon an entire kingdom is wondering why it's not abating. The weather mages deem it unnatural but can't seem to banish or control it. The priests of various faiths claim it's divine. The End-Of-Days crowd is having a field day with their predictions of doom. No one knows why the gale persists. When inquiring with neighboring kingdoms, it seems they too suffer from a persistent western mistral. Eventually the populace begins to adapt to living with a twenty four hour a day wind. Always from the West, and perpetual. What could be causing this? A raging Elemental king? a curse from the gods? an unearthed artifact? Or has Nature itself gone haywire?
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In the strangest parts of The Ocean, the Lojcreltians are born. Beings of weirdness and cosmic balance so profound they can alter reality.