The MoonÃ‚Â´s little alchemists
The various creatures that serve the Bloated Moon.
The airborne spies of the Bloated Moon
GET AWAY FROM ME YOU ZOMBIE FREAKS!
Last words of Derrius the Bold
"The walls moved!" Krunis exclaimed. This he was sure of it this time.
"Of course they did. They are trying to accommodate the additional room needed for tonight." Xarn returned matter-of-factly.
Living stones are tuned to one master to do his bidding.
Sometimes, the places remember. Where Destiny’s threads intertwine, echoes of the past live again.
The Ky’iish are greatly advanced in the arts of magic and created many strange and powerful materials and items. Some of their weapons were the most formidible artifacts found on Neyathis, dwarfing both physically and magically virtually all the works of man.
Dont mind him, he’s just a rag man
Clochardshire resident, common quote
The Caretakers of the Vast City - Stoneholt, a race of great skill, persistence, and antiquity…
Once she was Archmage Stewart’s beloved wife Emma, an acomplished which in her own right, now she is but a husk of what she once was, and yet the Archmage loves her too much to put her shell to rest.
Malignant entities, these beings have existed in unlife for so long that they have forgotten what it means to be mortal.
Not all vampires suck blood, there are those who suck feelings as well and you often have no idea of it until the vampire is feeding upon you.
Some places are better left undisturbed…you never know what may be waiting there for you.
Crawling among the garbage and offal, the detritus of what men call civilization, the myrie bugs claim their own small domains. They eat, and breed, and wait…
Moon Hunters or Moon Riders is what they were called. These wonderous and magicial dancers roamed the lands for many, many years preforming dances for kings and roality alike. But not all were dancers, one girl had a simple but different talent. She was the songtress of the group. Her amazing voice filled the hearts of all people. But at her last preformance…..
For the coddling of the weak and mewling shall one day be the Downfall of All Races!
—Morkoel Rasher, denouncing Moleskin in verse.
It is said that a ghastly ghost of glowing glass haunts Vallermoore Cathedral, the spirit of a fair knight of centuries past…
Et deprecabantur eum spiritus dicentes mitte nos in porcos ut in eos introeamus (Mark 5:12)
A beast made of writing; a strange, sad, and beautiful being that haunts the libraries and universities of the Sacred World
His breath faltering into a final rasping final gasp as the stone coils crushed his throat, these last words resonated through the fading mind of the would-be grave robber.
‘‘You dared to defile the tombs of the ancient kings, Lusoh scum, but die knowing that I will never allow once inch of this scared land to fall into the hands of those would seek to destroy the nation of my divine fathers. Long live the Shining One, Goya Varman. For I am him..’‘.
There are reports of a monster that lurks in the tops of trees and drops down on unsuspecting people. It causes them no damage but it frightens them with a hide-like face with big dead eyes, drooling and barking like a dog while unsuccessfully attempting to have intercourse. The PCs investigate and find that it is the local village moron that is doing the spelunking in the woods. How can they explain this otherwise pleasant and merry man that it is wrong to put on a mask, drop down from trees and attempt intercourse with relatives and neighbours.