Swift and deadly as any Dunleoustous, the Anura remain a proud and free people, though outsiders have time and time again, imposed great cruelties on this race.
‘‘By the strength in my sinews, I swear upon the spirits of my ancestors that this Curd will not forget the mate and children he has lost, nor find rest until his jaws have crushed the life out of the scum that dare to call themselves the Brave People!’’
Listen now and hear my words, for they are the words of truth and they are the legacy of our people.
Toltep, the eldest of the Cuada
The wizard Wodan the Red craves power and will perform almost any atrocity to reach his goals. Here are some of the many minions bred for such a dark purpose…
Beware the old woman clutching at the folds of her clothing..
The symbiosis of plants and animal has always been present, but long ago a special bond was formed to make the survival of plants coincide with the survival of their caretakers.
These beautiful women first steal your heart, then your mind, then your soul…
The Great White Dragon is rarely seen. Nobody knows where he slumbers, but they do know his cave is on one of the highest peaks in the world. Only few stories have made it to be Known about across the lands. Few ever made it back to there home villages to tell the story.
Not quite a race of its own, not quite the mortals they are so close to.
An offshoot of humanity arises from its underground home due to a massive civil war and other ancient fueds…
The current state of the mythical elder race who once ruled the world known as the Sorcen.
These are an Old Peoples, the original occupants of Daletal. They have been displaced by the Humans into the back corners of The Six Lands and the Badlands. For generations they waited for a sign so they could take their revenge against the Humans. The Great One came and led them. They swarmed across The Six Lands and ruled! Then The Fall occured. Their numbers have been greatly reduced since the time of their vengence, the Time of Merideth. They have returned to their back corners of The Six Lands. They wait for the Return of the Great One.
The screeching and squealing sound pierced our skull like a hot poker edging at the back of our mind and taking over any free thought. We knew what it was that was coming for us and could run no more, trapped like a mouse in a maze we frantically ran in circles trying to get away from the inevitable. It towered over us like a frozen monster . . . wait . . . it was. It ran its limbs against its own body knowing what the sound did to us. We cried in agony and horror; in pain physically and mentally. Knowing the fate that would befall us we cried in tight balls on the floor . . . the sound . . . it stopped. I looked up to see it walking away, its shoulders heaving. If I didn't know better I would think it was laughing at me for my fear of it. I'll never know for sure, I hope against all hope that I never will.
- Srowley, adventurer and historian
Featured creatures of the Swollen Shadow Codex.
The hiss of a drakulia fills the night air, and your blood runs cold. You know that you are about to die, and there is probably nothing you can do about it.
“We beg the protection of the gods. Of Deneth, divine father; of Larisa, queen of the heavens; of Mynis, guardian of the gates; of Tychis, master of secrets; of Desha, she who protects. Grant us safety from the sons of the devourer of worlds. Grant us protection from the Jandoshan.”
- Ethalani prayer
Known in folk-lore as the Blighted Storm-Serpents, the reclusive Kumbra are far more than any might guess.
The camp was eerily quiet this evening. The fire itself seemed nervous enough not to crackle; the wind seemed too scared to whistle. These treks into the Blade Peaks always worry me, what am I doing here? I find myself asking that very questions even during the day time now, not just during the night. Tales of rangers heading into the peaks and not returning were always common, what worries me is that myself and the group of rangers are heading into these blasted mountains in search for one such group. How my life would be much better had I not learned the truth. The Oricks are here, small brutish little bastards for true, but ruthless and uncaring. I just want to return home. Wait, a sound in the darkness. A scrap? A grunt? oh no they are here!
- Ranger Arkisa, Last journal entry,
As we viewed the island from afar, I knew we would be forced to land there. Our hull was breached and we are taking on water rapidly. My hope of us making the island is grim, but I keep a face up for the crew. The rumors every sailor has heard of this dreadful place makes even the stoutest sailer make water. We shall see.
-Captain Edver Brakuars, Second to Last Journal Entry.
Out of the three giants I am hunting the jotun have been the most aloof. It seems like they stay out of my sight for a reason. Who knows. I will track them down as i have the others to gain their knowledge. Damn, even the surtur were not this hard. Wait, I hear a noise, a drum perhaps… I will follow to see if I can find the jotun.
-Aergais, Sage, Traveler, Historian. His last entry.
In the far reaches of a long-lost wilderness, there stands a forgotten town inhabited only by children. Though they appear normal enough, their eyes burn with madness, and they speak in a foreign, archaic tongue. Nearly a millenia ago, a powerful spell had gone awry, or maybe it had succeeded - in any case, it ended up blessing, or cursing, an entire generation of children with agelessness. However, as the centuries passed, the children's parents grew old and died, the buildings of the town crumbled to earth, and even the civilization itself faded into history, becoming lost to time. All that remained were the children, driven mad by the psychological toll of living for hundreds of years beyond their age. In time, most children died, killed off by fighting amongst themselves, while many others were driven to suicide. Only a small handful remain, and they are a strange people indeed.