Hexenwolf – Magic, Were Creature, subclass Wolf
Hexenwolf are difficult to find and track. Those who are gifted with such ability usually keep it hidden and to themselves. All seem to be lost however to spiral down a long road of animalism if they are not careful.
Dr. Johan Kosdin Lerkoviski Were-Hunter
"Sivver is the common name given to crystalline parasites, which interact with the nervous systems of carbon based Chordate life forms."
Definition of the word Sivver provided by the Galactic Scouting Guild's Almanac
“The Sivvers are an alien weapon that turns people into murderous glass sweating zombies.”
Uwell Ofmobile, retired Galactic Scout
A name shrouded in the mists of time. A scheme of pure genius. A relic of the Mage Wars.
"That Inquisitor...what's his name? Hellenbrecht something? Matthias Hellenbrecht, I think it were? Don't let him near me again - made my skin crawl... You know that look you give a juicy steak after a straight day or two of marching? I swear to Iocath, he was giving me that very look."
-Private Dalton Hayes, Imperial Levy 304
Hailing from the giant swamp planet of Acadia, the Leech Lords rule with a mighty will. And slimy green tentacles.
Toltep walked slowly along the avenue, it would have been easier to swim along in the viaduct, but he had made it a point to not do the easy thing. All to often the easy path lead to ruin, and he had not survived so long by taking shortcuts, or the easy road. The market, what was above water, was abuzz with conversation. A large school of blood-crazed lurdi had been diverted into an ambush where the brave people had slaughtered the monsters. There was some worry, Toltep gathered, as a few had escaped.
"I have no love for these aliens."
-Jax the Chronicler
One way of getting here, The Concave, is through conflagration of your Soul. Not a nice way to arrive, but at least you'll have the benefit of a guide, unlike most others.
Death cults, worshipers of dark powers, necromancers, and eaters of the dead. Individually these cults are horrible in society and the repercussions can have lasting effects on those they influence and affect. But what if that not just a small group tried to influence their belief on a people, but an entire people tried to use their belief to take over the world?
The battle between the Daemon and the Styarm was most bloodthirsty. The Daemon battled with fiery rage against the Styarm's thunder and lightning. They clashed and the heavens shook. It was as if the heavens and the molten rock below clashed and bled.
That is a part of the tale of the Untold War. This is the beginning tale of the Kaur.
30 various vampiric varieties
There are a number of ways to reach The Concave; it seems that falling is one of them, but falling from where?
An attempt to gather my thoughts on the cosmology and history of the Locastus setting.
I´m not quite finished with it, but I´m throwing it out there anyway
The excited, almost frantic sound of a mallet instrument erupts from the forest to your left. Within minutes, your party is confronted by a host of short, sprite-like gnomes clad in vivid greens and earthy browns. Attempts to communicate fall flat. The gnomes seem to ignore your words entirely, and you cannot understand the humming/whistling/snapping that apparently makes up their language. Luckily for you and your fellows, however, they don't seem hostile . . .
"Are you lost in the frost?" A lone giant speaks, a cloud of chill air escaping his blue-lipped mouth.
In the distance, through a thick fog, you can see more of them coming out a cave lit by blue light. Almost like a portal to the netherworld is it’s eerie glow. You can feel fear growing in your belly. These aren’t normal giants. Their skin is blue, their hair and eyes silver. Stone jewelry hangs about their bodies making them look like brickwork monsters.
"Tiny man," The leader speaks, icicles breaking and falling from his jowls. "What brings you so far north?"
Beau yet alien, the soldier-concubines of Aerazad, the Returned King, are a glowing reminder that a new order reigns in Eversea.
The young mountain sheep came charging up the trail and into the Meadow of the Elders, past the startled Elder-Guards, and stopped, panting and half incoherent. “Relax,” came a deep, amused voice in his mind. “Take a deep breath, and then share your thoughts with us.”
“Yes, Revered One.” He took the deep breath advised, then trotted forward and touched his head to that of the Elder.
The Ska'ag warrior lay in his hide, watching the intruders.
“The Makers,” he thought. It had been many generations since the last one had died, but there was no doubt. They were back. “I have to warn the People.”
“So, you want to buy a horse?” the grizzled Catfolk horse-master said.
“Yes. I'd like to buy a battlesteed and I'll pay whatever you ask,” the human replied.
“No. We never sell the Little Brothers of the Clan. Find a regular horse instead.”
“But my Lord wants a battlesteed and ...”
Imagine a tribe of nomads where all the males have the blessing of being were-stallions. The tribe would not need to have ordinary horses to move around, all mounted warriors would be female and a curious custom could be that when a couple gets married, the girl rides her chosen to the altar.