"Tired of lugging about heavy quivers full of arrows?"
A beacon of brilliant white stone surrounded by black, clutching death..
"Yes, there are some unusual patterns to these - her patients, but we have nothing to prove anything other than statistical anomalies."
The Shambler is not a subtle foe. It bursts onto the scene like an elephant-sized lion to trample and smash it’s foes…
A powerful golem of Tar and Sand, ideal for pulverizing one’s foes.
There are scummy dives, and then there is The Rotten Bastard.
Sometimes the simple solutions are best..
Gartheia - the flower-pot Island
What if one were to abandon the classical 4-6 element universe and instead view things in a more ‘modern’ light?
The father of the Hanaset society, who to this day watches his people through reptilian eyes…
Death be not proud.
Beware these shrub-sized gaurdians of the forest.
The kingdom of Shyvora is known for its inclusion of non-humans. One of their best fighting Dukes is a tree…
A fantastic fortune in the remains of a drowned realm.
A hazardous climb for a wonderous cure
A tough climb for a source of wonderous healing…
Representing a primal force of nature which wants to strangle and slay all humanity, to bury their works beneath the roots of trees and their bodies as fertilizer.
Think of it as a nuclear machine-gun…
An elemental substance of tremendous purity and power.
The Ky’iish are greatly advanced in the arts of magic and created many strange and powerful materials and items. Some of their weapons were the most formidible artifacts found on Neyathis, dwarfing both physically and magically virtually all the works of man.
Wytchwolde-Under-Ash, once a great Thorpe, was razed to the ground by the ruthless, and truth told more than slightly deranged, Porcelain Princess and her henchmen, the Purifiers. When the flames had at last subsided, and a kaleidoscope of swirling, dull-gray ash choked the sky, nine hundred acres of old growth iron spruce, black larch and weeping birch, was burned to utter cinders, along with the entire coven of witches comprising the Sisterhood of the Silver Teat.
Now, centuries later, the forests are somewhat re-grown, and the town of Foolswater stands where Wytchwolde-Under-Ash once did. It is said that even to this day, one can still find ashes in the otherwise potable well-water of this village. Once a year during the Winter Solstice, the “Ash-Wind” comes to Foolswater, a suffocating black cloud that passes quickly but leaves dead birds and animals in its wake, darkening the trees, and staining the sky with black snow. The inhabitants of the village know better than to be caught outside during the day-long Ash-Wind. Everyone is locked snugly inside, singing old hymns that curse and re-curse the burned witches who once called this place home.