The Ethenorden is a dusk skinned race of nomadic humans that frequent all nations on the Dhargenaas continent, save for populated parts of the province of Silmar and the Obaayn Desert within the Empire.
The Senrenites - The Knights of the Most Holy Order of St. Senren - are one of the most powerful and influential religious orders in northern Laurentia. A militant order, they have nevertheless been widely credited with bringing a code of honour to conflicts that is now widely adhered to by most nations.
Mitrall was a Guardian Deity of the Dead, who would watch over the Dead and their tombs until the time of their return (physical or re-incarnation). The culture that worshiped Mitrall has been conquered and destroyed a few centuries ago. Yet the Cult of Mitrall continues.
The Order is an odd order. It is a knightly order that does not require its members to be knights, or even noble. It is a small order to be sure, but no one knows as no list of its members has ever been published. However, the leader of the The Order can sit in on the Council and instantly get audiences with many important people. No one is sure what the Order is about and many who have an inkling DO NOT want to know more.
The hooded man leaves the tavern. The group had been assembled. They had recieved the map. “Now it begins,” he said. He vanishes.
The grisly anthropomorphisation of a rockfall…
It seems to be a giant turtle with a long neck. One expects it to be slow. However, it is one of the most effective predators in the rivers, deltas, and swamps of Vireland.
The best way to describe these creatures, 3 legged chicken/monkey/squirrels. These animals are proof that Gods have senses of humor.
These are also known as sourges of the desert sands. Carvitons bare a strong resemblance to their water dwelling cousins, including the large dorsal fin that can be seen in the sands.
Perhaps they lack the subtlety of other groups, but the Candles of God have no desire to be subtle. Perhaps they do not keep their secrets very well, but the Candles of God want their voices to be heard. Perhaps they are careless about who they kill, but there shall be no innocent bystanders when the fires of hell consume the unrighteous.
An impressive citadel in the Askharnn mountains. Their prohibitive laws on travel during the Winter months can be a problem for pilgrims and wanderers.
Traps need to make sense. Somebody must of made it for a specific purpose.
“Oh look, a glass wall between us and the treasure.”
It is a simple book, a codex, a few dozen loose folios bound together. The cover is heavy stock with a simple red hand that one hopes is impressed in red ink rather than blood.
The children of some of the murdered City Guards formed the “White Knights”, their stated aim being to help the City Guards crack down on crime.
The members of this obscure order specialize in growing funghi. Growing, researching and studying many kinds, they even try to create new ones.
The Brotherhood’s goal was to preserve traditional Eshal practices and customs, with emphasis being placed on the belief that every member of the tribe mattered and that to ignore his rights and contributions, would result in the Clan collapsing.
The principal axiom of the Curalon Hestaris, and the basis of all its teachings, is this:
"Inhale. Kill. Exhale."
The Order is about the past. It is a collection of people who love history, ancient times, and artifacts of the past. Only people who are really interested in past should be members. A passing interest is not enough. One must be dedicated to the past to be invited into this organization.
Via Humanitae - For Humans to live and thrive, non humans must be removed.
Idea from the Aeneid. Could make an intriguing encounter when searching for firewood..."Quite near there happened to be a mound of earth, at the highest part of which were growing thickets of cornel and a dense cluster of spiky myrtle-stems. I went up there and tried to wrench the green growth from the ground to provide a leafy covering for our altar. There I was confronted by a horrible and astounding miracle. For from the first bush which I tried to break off...blood oozed in dark drops, fouling the earth with its spots...A piteous moan came from the base of the mound and I heard a human voice answering me: 'Why, Aeneas, must you rend a poor sufferer? I am buried here...for I am Polydorus. Here death overpowered me in a crop of piercing iron-pointed spears. And so a crop resembling javelins has grown over me...'"