The Regal Tombs of Orbis were the place where the richest of the rich were buried, and Bert was sure that if he could break in to a recent two-month old burial he would be wealthy for at least the rest of the year. Since tomb-robbing could get somebody the gibbet, he had gone alone, and now he cursed as he fought hand to hand with the bulbous, distended, decomposing corpse that had leapt up when he tried to steal the grave goods and now beat and clawed at him and swiped at him with a rapier. Every wound it inflicted on his body, he got a little weaker and to his horror, it grew a little stronger and a little less rotten. Not long afterwards, a seemingly living man left the tomb, leaving the body of a grave robber behind. A body that would soon rise...and walk...
You can't miss it, it's eight feet tall, glows in the dark and breathes ghost flames. Even if you're blind it utters blasphemies and damnations, a black poetry of the underworld. If you're deaf and blind you can feel the cold in the air when they turn up.
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.
The net went down, it went down hard. People got hurt, people died.
Strange creatures, half dreamed half imagined, figments of delerium, wisps of insanity.
Wild beasts of the imagination — untamed spirits of the quick and unfettered waters of this world. These steeds of the fast-flowing rivers are never to be captured, never to be controlled; to stop is to die — to be stopped is to be turned to droplets which return to the fast-flowing waters. Yet, while free they are things of pure beauty; mystical bringers of the gods' good will.
Those sissy boys in the army, they gotta have their 'bots and guns, shiny vehicles and iron suits. Me, I don't need none of that. I've got everything I need on me.
Cagle, Claremont Class Biomod Mercenary
We were crossing a ridge when Corgan was lifted off the ground by something. "Shoot it! Shoot the tyrannosaur!" he screamed as blood streamed from the puncture wounds that had opened up in belly. I fired into the empty space above him to no effect. Then Corgan's ragged corpse dropped to the forest floor, and I was alone. Utterly alone. There was no dinosaur. There was nothing.
"Do you feel it?"
"Feel... well, never mind, I'm just not feeling well"
In the strangest parts of The Ocean, the Lojcreltians are born. Beings of weirdness and cosmic balance so profound they can alter reality.
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.
"How is he? Will my son ever recover from the bugs that turned his brain to mush?"
The doctor pointed to where the thirty-seven year old was playing with toys on the floor. "It's been five years now and he has the brain of a child, give it another five and we can start the basics of teaching him magic again. He knows who you are but...but he will never have the same personality again, and by the time he regains all his magic skills at their former levels he will be in his sixties."
"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.
“Swiftly, repent! The Saintmaker is coming!”
The poor boy.. Man, I mean. I tend to forget his age, given his appearance...
Castoria was once a thriving and prosperous nation, a rich trade center for the surrounding lands. This all changed when, on one fateful night nearly a century ago, the Mist of Eternity rolled in and surrounded the land, obscuring more of the outside world as days and nights passed.
By the time the Mist blocked out the sun, a new light shone during what was assumed to be daytime: The Starpoint Spire, a mysterious place atop Castoria's highest peak in the northern-central region. Some say that there is some sort of building atop the mountain shining the dim "sunlight" onto the land, but it is only ever too bright or too dark to fully make out any structure, not to mention the mountain's immense height.
Not a month after the Spire's light lit up, the stars fell. Flaming rocks and debris from far-flung edges of space plummeted downward onto the eastern region of Castoria. Once the shower subsided, a strange energy from within the fallen stars transformed the eastern lands in what are now known as The Voidwastes, a barren gray land littered with craters and strange alien creatures (these can vary, but I had Pathfinder's Akatas in mind).
To the south, strange mechanism of eldritch origin are again at work after aeons of rest in the Ruins of Kchuthngnl, an ancient city of non-human creation that is estimated by scholars to be no less that five millennia old.
To the west, the once peaceful and serene forest, now known as The Plagued Woods, has been experiencing corruptions of the wildlife and humanoids living there. Some humans have reported creatures that appear not unlike a halfling, except that they can open their mouths to massive proportions to swallow creatures the size of an ogre.
When adventurers and citizens alike try to make an escape from Castoria, they are never seen again, and it is utterly unknown whether they found hopeful sanctuary or agonizing death withing the Mist's depths.
What is unknown to all residents of Castoria is that all of these events occurred because of the actions of a secret but powerful cult loyal to the Elder Gods who call the space between the planes their abhorrent home. The cult still lives on, larger than ever, and their plan is for the alien horrors to incubate and thrive within the dome of mist that now envelops Castoria, so that when the Elder Gods return as the cult's prophecy foretells, they will have an army of blasphemous creation at their disposal that they will use to make war with and enslave the denizens of the Material Plane.