A peculiar sort of horror, a mockery of terrestrial biology
A chilling wind whips through the hollow. Winter's bite grips your spine. The very air you breath stings. Snow swirls all around you, yet, the trees... the trees are motionless in the gale, unaffected by the cold, biting winds.
The limb that got away and became the symbol of a revolution.
Understanding that the planets in the universe are simply eggs, waiting to be torn apart by the creatures inside, gave birth to more questions than answers.
"Eight legged, human body, magical and damnation. That's what they are"
Log: Encounter 701,Syowa Antarctica
Classification: Keter, magnitude 5
Type: plasmic manifestation
The only true god of the Stolen World.
Sometimes names can be deceptive
In a world without almost any gods ,sometimes you have to take what you get. A tale of the Stolen World
All you need to stop a brain is a bullet.
Log: Encounter 45, London Arcoplex
Classification: Keter, magnitude 3
Type: Extradimensional Manifestation
"Alright where is the beast so that I can size it up?"
"That's the thing...you see that mountain range over there?"
"Yeah, the twin spires, what of it?"
"Well that's the beast"
This frightening creature has some rather cruel methods to torture its prey
Before Final Fantasy turned Bahamut into a dragon, it was a fish
A collection of relatively harmless Chinese Mythical Lifeforms
Two creatures, forever cycling between the phases of the 5 elements, unable to rejoin.
Travelling the shifting sands at night was always a dangerous task. Freshly recruited into the Ouzquin Dremorix army, young Fallava and Moruz followed the grizzled veteran before them. They were hunting a band of Latrani orcs, and the trail was fresh. The grey-haired Avaki raised two fingers in a sign of silence as the trio neared the top of the rise, and slowly, the man breached the top of the dune. "Aaahh," Avaki exhaled mournfully as he slung his Ouzala over his shoulders. Down the other side of the dune lay an oasis, and as Fallava and Moruz came forth they saw the reason for Avacti's sigh. The corpses of a dozen Ouzquin Dremorix lay in pieces across the bank of the water. Blood stained the sand. Without looking back to the young man and woman, Avaki spoke softly, "Vauraki has fed well this night."
A chill ran up Moruz's spine. He could have sworn he heard a wilting howl inside his head.
They have no souls, but they live. They are formless, but they walked. They are unseen, but they reveals. They walk the dark plains, but they show the lights. And they were given a chance to choose side. And yet, they chose righteous. And that's the Farons. Creature that walks the void realm.
Kalraka Dzeik is a sentient lightning storm with a following of cultists. It has much in common with a natural disaster or a plague; it starts at a single point but spreads like wildfire if given the chance. It is capable of terrible destruction, and will take heroic effort to stop, if it can be stopped at all.
Ghorion was once one of the Three Troll Kings of the Cloudsteeth Mountains. Undeath has only made him crueler, and much, much more powerful.
Watcher comes now. It comes to set me free
Of its curse of dark and emptiness and endless misery.
THE GNOMES OF UDNALOR: Part II
Having left the hush of the upper halls, and crossed the depths of the Braeth (an underground river, which is not all that deep because bear in mind we're talking about gnomes here), you would find yourself in Wattling Street, the main road through Udnalor. It's actually a long, well-worn passageway which opens out eventually into the City Centre. The gnome-buildings branch off Wattling Street as small burrows or caverns with boulder-blocked doorways for privacy. You can find armourers and smiths (though their armour tends to be on the small side for humans to buy) and many other types of trader.
There are many streets, ginnels and cooies which run off Wattling Street, the most famous probably being Smell Street, the domain of the infamous gnomish alchemists, the eponymous smell being very distinctive: the stench of cooking fungus, the aroma of subterranean spices, the pungent reek of rotting carcasses (used in some of the more notorious experiments). An encounter with an alchemist can really be spiced up (excuse the pun) if you have a well-stocked herb cupboard, and actually make up the potions, elixirs and draughts as they are ordered by characters.