Beware, beware, the hidden snare.
Where the shadows linger, and fiends do fare.
Go on, run, hide and pray.
For the elder crow feasts,
on our souls' decay.
Strange creatures, half dreamed half imagined, figments of delerium, wisps of insanity.
"Do you feel it?"
"Feel... well, never mind, I'm just not feeling well"
So you want to rub a lamp, do you? Here are many mighty Genies, beings of great magic who might turn out to be your greatest boon or your greatest bane.
"A little bit of the arcane, hidden within the mundane."
-Victroinox, Archmage of the Circle of Masters
"I saw him! The Sorcerer! His skin cracked and glowed like it was smoldering beneath. His eyes burned like Sol and Radia. He spoke with a voice like a legion of hellspawn, in a strange tongue that parted the skies and reigned fire down upon the earth."
-Excerpt from Mycenae's Dissertation on Sorcerers.
When a life is snuffed out through a cause other than old age and natural ailments, the spirit lingers in the Mortal Realm rather than immediately entering the Spiritual World, as is its due. The incorporeal form attached to such a being is what is commonly referred to as a Ghost.
How much hatred does it take to buy revenge?
They say you give up a few things, chasing a dream. In those mists that's the literal truth, for every dream of yours that comes true, a piece of yourself, mind, body, or soul, gets taken by the mist. Worst part is, you won't even know what the cost of your dreams are until you go to leave, and by then you might not even have a mind left to change...
A fragment of the mists of creation, drawn to those desperate to make their dreams come true. Suitable for any magical fantasy setting.
The Red-Wind Rag; Trappings of a Bloody Death; A Malevolent Sheet of Scarlet and Ichor.
The poor boy.. Man, I mean. I tend to forget his age, given his appearance...
When a mission becomes something more.
have made thee as no other. All the treasures of the earth shall lie between thy eyes. Thou shalt cast thy enemies between thy hooves, but thou shalt carry my friends upon they back. Thy saddle shall be the seat of prayers to me. And thou fly without any wings, and conquer without any sword.
The everyday kin to the elementals and the demons
It is pitch black. You are likely to be eaten by a grue.
The leftover remnants of Mind can sometimes cling to existence when the Body fails and the Spirit departs…
You see a glowing figure, four feel tall, it looks like it has been waiting for you. Suddenly, it flies right through you, and it looks like its coming around for another pass…
Behold, the Harbinger of ill-tidings, the blizzard rider, the thief of winter, the Stamagast.
Any being or creature made of spirit energy that exists on the astreal realm and non material realms.
Gentlemen, BEHOLD! The celestial spider!
The PCs have travelled long and far. As nightfall approaches a mighty storm is unleashed. Luckily there is a lush wood nearby the path.
A good shelter for the rage of the unnamed weather gods it seams at first. As the PCs enter under the roof of this dense wood, they are welcomed by only a few drops wich is allowed trough the thick forest crown. A fire is offcourse required to warm the weary bones of the travellers. As one of the party is set to the task of collecting firewood the others settle down at a suitable location. But alas, they did not know the perils of this forest. But it seems clear to the rest of the party that something ill is at work as the woodcutters scream echo from afar.