Sometimes is the true face of a thing forgotten, when you live in comfort, and are not forced to coexist with it.
The many ways of the Citadel to bind ideas together.
Some items simply go wrong, that happens from time to time. But some are created by weird minds, even downright deranged ones, minds too sick to be healed. Guess where this one comes from.
As if there was not enough siliness around…
Vampires have strange powers indeed.
- "Arrr! What scurvy dog seeks the Davy Jones’ Locker by comin ‘ere?"
- "Oh, shut it, will ya!"
"That book?" sighed the librarian. "That one is hard to find. The priests say it is heretical. But," he continued more quietly "word is they have a few copies, and study them very carefully. That even they consider it true."
It is said wizards don’t work well with others of their kind. Once they have a tower, woe to anyone not recognizing their superiority, that is the rule. But to every rule is an exception. Once, there were three wizards, on friendly terms, that built their towers closer than anyone before. The towers are lost, the knowledge therein may be yet reclaimed.
Elementals have been around for a long time. In many games they unveiled their impressive powers, and reflected their mystical origin no one cared about. It is time for a remake.
Dust created to allow seeing invisible creatures of all kinds, even if immaterial.
- "Course heading, Captain?"
- "Second star to the right and straight on ‘til morning."
"I walked through the poor’s quarters, and my eye was not harmed. All functional, and simple, and crude, made on the whims of fate and delivered by immediate need.
I walked through the merchant’s quarters, and my eye was bored. Pretensions where nothing backed them, striving for appearance without substance, evidence of changing wealth, too much only began, too much never finished.
I walked through the place where the powerful lived, and my eye was tired. Too much of attempted beauty turned hideous, and a lack of taste was made worse by willing lackeys.
But then I’ve seen the treasure of the city. A cathedral, that was part of the sky, columns, and arches to carry the weight of the world, shapes to let your mind fly along, and ornaments to stop by. A place to ponder, to be pleased to be alive, to accept suffering, and to realize your mistakes. This is a place I could learn from."
Priests of the god of agriculture.
"Yes, my kung-fu is strong. You wouldn’t believe how hard it is to learn this style…"
You say you have no place to go, friend? That you do not even know, if it is worth going anywhere? I hear there is a place where they might help you.
Martha’s coming wasn’t a lucky sign. A heavy birth and a deformed face left even the midwife distrustful. But the child turned out healthy.
Of fire, but not elementals. Short-lived, yet intelligent. Bound to this world they are, more than most of its mortal inhabitants.
The large blades slowly rotate, feeding on the wind, you have seen the image before. But could these be feeding on something more?
What’s this round thing on the wall…
"Some creatures are simply hard to talk with. Take the Krys for example…"
Once every decade on the eve of St. Poskov's Day during mid-winter, the coastal city of Tiyabon experiences a horrific event. Quool's Tide rolls in, depositing hundreds of bloated, fish-eaten corpses upon the pebbly shores of Tiyabon's wide bay. This singularity is to this day unexplained, though countless theories abound. It is said for example, that these corpses are not eaten by the myriad fish of the seas completely, due to the fear all creatures of the seas hold for Quool.
Named for Quool, a terrible, antediluvian god of seas and storms, who no longer exists for he has no worshipers, the Tide chokes the beaches and surf with the countless rotting bodies of those who had perished at sea in a violent way.
Almost immediately, the lifeless corpses are fed upon by crabs, gulls, and worse things that await the horrid feast. The townsfolk let nature take it course with disinterested disgust, though lately some enterprising adventurers have taken to searching along the beaches of flesh for former deceased companions, with intentions of raising them again!
Surprisingly no undead ever rise from among the many corpses. This is also a mystery.