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.
A divinely aware ornament, this device serves to conceal and hide from the most powerful of beings…
In accordance with my own Quest:
And they shall beat their swords into plowshares, the implements of war returning life to the land.
These necromancers are maintanied by the warlord-king of Delegroth, in order to augment his armies and decimate his foes.
Once a ‘stew-plate’ assassin, Bren Bloodblade has come up swiftly in the underworld, his talents genuinely disturbing to the powers that be…
A mad doctor who dared defy the laws of the natural order, to transcend death itself, and the creature he created.
All know that Elves cannot die, and that Men do. All know that Men go unto the Underworld upon their death, and that the Elves retire unto the Spiritual Elysium. Yet in the Great Scheme, where goes the one with one foot in the Underworld, and one foot in the Realm of Spirit?
When one cannot die, obsession with death is such a natural thing.
One of the common variations on magic is the concept of ‘sword mages’ or ‘knight mages’. We all know and love them as the folks in full plate that split globes in twain with flaming swords, before twirling around to change their flame sword to an ice sword so they can stab the flaming angel of vengeance in the chest to maximum effect.
The nobleman’s daughter must be escorted from place to place, but her addiction may make the journey far harder than it need be..,
While we’re talking about the subject of constructing religions, I’d like to bring up the concept of the Creed. The creed is nothing more than a simple statement of the religion’s beliefs, meant to be recited. If you cannot write a creed for your monotheistic religion, it probably needs work on internal consistency. Creed examples:
This religion is meant to be a minor counterpoint, or even a cult, in a world dominated by a polytheistic religion. Religions do not exist in a vacuum, and few worlds are homogenous enough to have only one religion.
The old clock tower stands tall, but the bulk of the uppermost storey is crumbling and unsafe, with gaping cracks in the walls. The metal struts and girders supporting the great bronze bells are still intact, though, and the bells survive. The grotesque gargoyles and arabesques which decorated the original design have either fallen into the street (once or twice a year more bricks fall from the tower, prompting calls for its demolition) or have been defaced, but the main doors to the clock tower are still intact and show signs of being kept in working order. This is the home of The Captains, clad in raggedy clothes, with sooty faces, and perpetually runny noses. But behind each set of eyes is the look of a survivor. They live to stick together and make it through each day. Older than their years in many ways, the friendship they share with each other and Wims ghost keeps the core of a childs innocence and hope alive in each. But they are still very suspicious of outsiders. They are a group of street children who live in the clock tower. Some are orphans, some runaways, and some nomads who occasionally return to their homes. But they’re all poor, dirty and perpetually hungry, as well as being wily, unscrupulous and mischievous in a fairly brutal way. Enough of them have suffered at the hands of adults for all of them to be wary of any grown-ups, particularly ones who ask too many questions, although with hard work and a lot of food it might be possible to win the confidence or even the trust of a few of them.