30 Warriors -- Freemen and Captives -- to populate your arenas.
The land of Vartanadel is full of twisted and fabricated truths. To stay in power, one must play the game.
A collection of Chinese Mythical Lifeforms that can pose varying degrees of danger to adventurers and the general populace
A collection of relatively harmless Chinese Mythical Lifeforms
Two creatures, forever cycling between the phases of the 5 elements, unable to rejoin.
A short story which uses Memory Moths in a sci-fi setting. Props to Echomirage for the forum post that inspired the symbiotic Proxy Bug.
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.
Think twice before giving your children extreme in utero biomodification. Your decision will last for my lifetime.
When a wizard named Mendalus develops a spell that summons an obedient woman named Catherine--exactly like any other summoning spell--it creates chaos in the wizard-metropolis of Meltheria, as many interested parties struggle to understand the nature (and legality) of the Catherine spell, while vast fortunes hang in the balance.
The cover depicts a stylized rose with one drop of blood dripping from one of its thorns.
(But is there more than meets the eye with this book, of bloody course there is!)
Herein lies the histories of Warpriest Lazarus, righteous fist of Tridoa. Lord Lightward the Lunar Hammer.
Herein lies the birth of Lazarus Lightward the Hellpriest; Trickster of Devils and Master of the Bloodied Moon.
This submission was lost to the void...
The shining city of glass and mirror within the forboding Karikun desert. Welcome to the home city and birthplace of the Ouzquin Dremorix.
One man's ultimate demise could prove another's treasure...Or curse.
Also called the Flowers of Childhood, they look like they were taken straight from a fairytale. But they have a darker side.
Captain Aubrey surveyed the deck of the captured sloop. He was amazed that such well run ship could crewed by such a motley gang of men. He turned to the doctor and wondered, "No man is born into piracy. What were these many fellows before they took up the black flag? Surely they can not all share the same story."
"Impatient as well as stupid, some virtuous whip you are." Snap tilts her head to the side with a smile as her drumming fingers increase in tempo. "I assure you that my patience is vast." The man stops in his tracks stare Snap down, her expression remains unchanged. "Vast, not infinite. I am but a human so I am sure something could cause me to break my vows." Hastily he resumes filling the order. As Snap walks out the door with the goods the shopkeep grabs your arm. "That is a monster chained by monks robes, I have stared down raging barbarians and never seen such hate in their eyes."
A warrior that never tremble, a warrior that always line forward, a warrior that always spearheading the battle. His bravery is unimaginable... It's Valadaar, the Hand of Ashantar...
A quote from my solo campaign that really got me thinking about how players perceive Npcs.
Does your players treat your precious Npcs like nothing but obstacles, exploits and cannon fodder, whether they are gelatinous cubes or humans?
And if so, what can we do to change it?
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.