Some are called dhampir, others exalt as champions of undeath, and yet neither of these are correct…
A voice as supple as silk, a face hidden in the shadows of a hood, yet the words she speaks are colder than the grave and burn more furiously than any inferno.
There are certain things that need not be said, and events best left in the past, to be forgotten. Be careful what you wish for.
Also known as the Oathbreakers Legion, or the Forsaken, this company is often the last stop for criminals, vagabonds and vagrants before the headsman’s ax.
It is quoted in the Canon of St. Mancel that once in his life, that every devout soul should make pilgrimage to the holy city of Sangreal.
The Sea of Sand is one of the most treacherous and deceitful tracts of waste in the heart of the Djaraha desert.
Once noble and proud, the Cyclopes of the desert are now all but dust on the wind…
Many know the image of the Night-Mare, a sable horse wreathed in a nimbus of hellfire sent from the underworld every night to deliver dreams of terror and fear to the living. While this is not entirely incorrect, the truth is more complicated…
The Latrani are elusive as desert ghosts, dangerous as sand scorpions, and as rare as oases in the wastes.
Brutal are the Seitch raids that come up out of the vast waste of the Calcobrinan desert. They come clad in dusky browns, bearing black iron weapons, raiding for food, water, gold, and women.
It is a common conceit that banks, loans, investment and other features of the banking and financial system are entirely modern. This is far from the truth, as long as there has been money, there have been people who profitted from holding it and manipulating it.
Love is a powerful emotion, perhaps the strongest. Love conquers all, don’t they say; it’s blind too. Love potions, love spells, and the magic of amore could be more common than all the magic swords, rings, and wands of magic missle put together…
Some years ago a dark cult was founded in the Forecastle area of Hahvrensburg. The cultists were defeated by a band of heroes. A month after the heroes left the city and went on about their business, something massive came out of the earth.
In the royal year 451, also known as the year of Red Leaves, something strange occured. A star fell blazing from the heavens, in to the Midlands. Imperial Wizardry could be sent to examine the object. However things changed in the area. Royal Viziers were unable to postulate a cause for the matter, but the fact that none of the countyfolk were alive led to the whisper of one, chilling word. Zombie.
Old man Hardnan had a farm E-I-E-I-O
And on this farm there was a dragon E-I-E-I-O
Bwah! What kinda farmer has dragons on his farm!
Recently unearthed this gem of mine, and thought to post it. Its writing predates my joining of Strolen, and I found quite a few interesting bits in it. It is nearly completely written and I am going to endeavor to finish writing it out. Until then, I plan to post it here, perhaps a section a day or so. Enjoy, expand, criticism, comment.
The well was dug in years beyond memory. The locals still knew to stay away…
Untold years, laying in the deep
Sheltered in the sepulchre earth
Borne by the dead who never speak
Funeral Gold and Grave Silver
Beware the gift
Beware the giver
“Come in, come in. I knew you were coming.
How did I know? Your brother told me.
Yes, yes I know your brother died in the war several years ago, he has told me all about it.”
This might not be suitable for the squeamish or easily offended.
A rare branch of the arcane masters, encountered only among the deepest hill folk or ramshackle cabins, the Saucerer takes his power directly from the consumption of cheap liquor. Only the strongest, rankest, most nauseating of homebrewed alcohol will do, where it is instantly converted into mana available to the caster. Without a minimum level of inebriation, the Saucerer will be unable to cast any spells, as focus inhibits his spellcasting abilities.