Jacob Latris was a Taurian immigrant to Obstaria. Now he is a man who has severed his connections to sanity long ago, and is searching for something that probably doesn't exist.
With many legends and myths attributed to it, the Shield of St. John was wielded by the Prophet and bears the curse of fame for bearing holy magic. However, the only benefit the Shield could bestow upon the wielder is psychological.
The Prophet John's life and, indeed, death was a mystery. Some say that the gods placed him on this earth for his purpose without a past, and others, a rare few, claim that he was a god himself.
"And Lo; today Alea Waxes, and she shall blesses us. For soon a great change is upon us, for soon our beliefs shall be hallowed! We as a group, we as a people, we as a religion, shall be acknowledged. Our efforts shall no longer be in vain!"
--The Prophet John, Sermon to the Capitol
A place where no one knows about or finds until the Circle chooses a person to discover it. For the Circle of Culthus has a purpose for that person, and letting other people know of it or discover it would hinder that purpose.
The Forgotten Cemetery is famed throughout the world as a monument to the World War. Only the survivors of the Forgotten Battle and the cemetery's caretaker remembers its true purpose.
Triastu. The City of the Three. The Hallowed City. Triastu is the holy city of Trianarianism, and is the home of the Trirex. Many have paid homage to it, and many have gone on pilgrimages to it, and have marveled in its beauty.
An army can be compared to a craftsmen. Both produce for gain. A craftsmen produces a product, a good, for monetary gain. An army, however, produces corpses for resource acquisition. Be it on the battlefield or in the medical tent with the severely wounded being put out of their misery, the fillers of graves are being produced.
Any mind of the modern age has thought about putting those bodies to work. Necromancy has long been socially inacceptable. Besides, no one enjoys seeing a former comrade, a former brother-in-arms, walking around fighting and killing with a spear hole in his gut and a couple arrows hanging from the arms. And the only other way was to throw the dead body into a catapult and throw it at the enemy, in the hopes of giving them plague.
It was Obstarian military who first unleashed the Raveten on their foes during the World War. No one was prepared for it. And so people died.
When the barbarian increase their raiding of Tauria, the King of Tauria decides that hiring a couple of lowlife mercenaries (the PCs) is his best option to fix the problem.
There are three ways to live. And living them well, living them with purpose, allows you to die easy.
Found, normally, deep in the swamp, the Friar's Weed's poison is something to be watched for.
Also called the Flowers of Childhood, they look like they were taken straight from a fairytale. But they have a darker side.
"Death. What happens when one dies? A question that all civilized peoples have tried to answer. Some claim you go to a place where you are rewarded or punished based on what you do when you're alive. Some claim that you a simply reincarnated.
"They are all wrong. The truth is that we are in a state of transformation. Humans are simply in a complicated version of a caterpillar in a chrysalis. We started as mere animi. Now we are humans. And just like the caterpillar turns into something grander after its time in a chrysalis, we become something grander when we die.
"You see, we become gods."
Born to King John XVII, Hope did not get standard princess treatment. Yes, she was locked away in a tower, and yes, there was the standard moat of flaming lava, but unlike all the other spoiled brats, she didn't get a dragon. Hope Rexian had to make do with a demon. And this particular demon couldn't even breathe fire! Simply pathetic job done by the cosmos. Hope may have gotten the valiant-knight-who-happens-to-be-called-Prince-Charming-riding-in-and-killing-guardian-on-noble-steed treatment, but some things just won't do. You can't just mess with tradition like that!
A basic history of the continent of Atheus.
A description of the geography of Atreus. This sub will also be an umbrella sub for all the coming Atreus subs.
An explorer gone missing. A king in panic. A treasure to find.
Welcome to the Craggy Peaks. We hope you don't freeze to death.
That would mean we couldn't... play.
"And Arathinos brandished the Foe-Reaper, and let loose a battle cry. He stood, with rain pouring out of the heavens, on a mountain of bodies. The rain washed the blood through channels in the corpses. Arathinos raised the Foe-Reaper and saluted the fleeing enemies before him, as lightning crashed around him.
The Foe-Reaper is a great blade. With the years spent in Arathinos's hands, it has taken up a myriad of powers. And most prominent among those powers is dramatic effect. What is more morale-sapping than seeing your enemy with a backdrop of lightning, as if the arrows of the heavens stand with your foe?"
The founder of Procrastinamancy was a man called Frederick Johnson. A normal guy who grew up in a place without Mathom, Fred had one "flaw." It was procrastination. Fred took the art of Procrastination and turned into magic.
The rain poured down on the city of Grathen in a relentless beat that would marvel the best of drummers. It beat down on the public buildings, with pedestrians streaming in front of, with eyes cast upwards and lips mumbling prayers to Rain Gods. It beat down on the Slums, where thieves were mumbling thanks to their gods for all these people looking up and not at their purses. And it beat down on Ariel Lorette, a girl of 13, escaping from horrors beyond the common person's imagination. Ariel Lorette, with rain streaming down her face and hiding her tears of pain and sorrow and, above all, victory. For Ariel had escaped them. Ariel was free.
Walking through the alleys of the docks district of town, you hear an old, mad beggar calling out for alms. He claims to be a god, cast out from heaven and stripped of his powers. The party passes, tossing a few coppers to him. In thanking them, the madman refers to incidents in their childhood or distant past which would have been all but impossible for him to know.