The Great Black Stag of the Southern Forests, Donnerwunsch has drunken deeply of the rivers of the Desert of Divine Despair.

Shirion may have been a human once. That time is long past. Now, it is an ever-shifting being, its form lost to time.

Brendan stared at the creature in the pale moonlight, transfixed by the silvery petals that glistened beneath that perfect purity. It was not until his final breath that he gathered his wits enough to scream after the thing had descended on him, all muscle and thorns and hard, barklike skin. It was too impossible, even the crimson blossoms that shone in the light of the moon.

A single room in the lair of those cast away by the gods, this place of worship is nothing the adventurers are likely to expect here.

This mighty polearm contains the bound and unwilling spirit of a daemon, who’s dearest desire is eternal vengance on the one who bound him.

Sacred tools of protection granted to those who must travel in the name of the One God, these lightly made, weighted gloves are easily overlooked.

A long forgotten city, with surprising inhabitants.

A loose organization of heros who have toppled regimes, the Brothers of Dusk and Dawn have given their lives to the Gods of Chaos, becoming potent agents of change through out the known worlds…

A simple knife, designed to hold its poison far longer than a blade with poison simply smeared over it.

Twin Shards of the Storm reforged to work in concert, the Gauntlets of the Fallen Frost grant the user power over winter’s weather, but at a certain price…

A legendary warrior of Ironspirit, and patron hero of the desperate stand.

Welcome, Gentlemen. I’ll be brief about this. As you already know, as of 07:12 yesterday, we are at war with the bloody granola eaters of West Sylvania. I’m here to tell you how these elves fight.

A dark dagger of song, forged for vengance. It shall have that vengance.

A powerful clan of blacksmiths, Clan Ironspirit is well known as the single best source for forged goods of any metal throughout the world. Many a legendary artifact has been born underneath their hammers, however, their price is almost never something so simple as mere gold.

It’s round. It’s silvery. It’s got a handle. It’s been used to make a million excellent meals, and even more dogs. It’s also got a face shaped dent in the bottom.

The legendary blacksmith, founder of clan Ironspirit, and he whom brought the steel of the Gods themselves to mortal man.

Be wary, adventurer, of the smoke of Mal’Mennoth, that dread, choking cloud that blots out the very sun! Be wary, adventurer, of the demon’s dread shadow, of the things that prey on your mind!

“A man needs two things to become a saint. He must perform three miracles, and then he must die. Perform your miracles, sir, and come to me when you are ready to become a saint.”
—Azariah Saintmaker, Dread Lord of Hatred

A freed air elemental, with a reason to stick around.

Man, too, is a primal creature, though he binds himself with the chains named Reason and Law, locked link by link from birth. Yet, those locks can be opened, the links broken, in both the savage world of the street-slum, and in the gilded cages of nobility.

One such creature is the falconer Jon Raptorclaw, once no more than a street urchin, now one of the king’s most valued rangers.. when he can be found.