Damn 'ol thing it tis. Itches like nuthin I e'er felt. Stupid bugs, your the Poosker ye fool. Help me get rid o' these damnable things.
I hate to tell you this but you have what we liked to call, "Puces Barbe Morts", or undead beard fleas. And the only way to be rid of them is to cut off your beard and then burn the hair.
No! Just kill me it's less painful that way.
The land of Airithrin is a horrible place, a land of reeking fumes and geysers of flame, lakes of lava and the strange life forms that emerge when elementals breed with mundane creatures
The cries sounded like some misshapen creature being devoured alive. Or a stillborn baby deer, somehow struggling back to life in the filthy grove where it had been abandoned, crying in infinite pain and hatred.
As I neared the ridge, I could hear a set of shuffling, twitchy half-steps, more like pained spasms than any sort of a gait. And when I saw it. . . Oh gods. . . It's like. . . that face. . . THAT HORRIBLE FACE!
"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."
The flower commonly known as "Blood Petal," Haemorosa is a member of the Necrofoenae family - a family of plants that exhibit a disturbing affinity for the dead.
-Court Herbologist Gertrard di Vini, from his tome "dyFoenis Terrae Modae" - On the Plants of New Terra
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?
In a time before time, the creation of Baymaroen was primordial as all worlds are. Forces of energy clashing in a climactic font of brilliance to form the bedrock of the world. Silence issued forth for an eternity but lasting an instant. The appearance of the Firstborn was instantaneous. Life created itself from the cosmic essence left behind by creation. This is the story of the first war, the Untold War.
The Blood Beast, while originally a construct, has surpassed its beginnings to assume a place of infamy.
There are a number of ways to reach The Concave; it seems that falling is one of them, but falling from where?
The follow string of Mirror-folk evolutions, Mihradhz, Mihrral, and Mihradamagus, are collectively known as The Mirr. They are all curious and slightly annoying, each in their own way. They advance through their lives by pestering the rare mortals who visit their plane.
The Mihradhz shrieked, with a sound like fingernails on slate, as it was dragged headlong into our world by a greedy and uncaring spellcaster whose only desire was to defeat his rivals.
One of man's most successful domestications has been that of the dog. Even in our world, the variation that has been bred is truly astonishing. It only seems natural that a world filled with magic and the supernatural could yield even greater variety. This is a collection of some of these possibilities.
Perhaps the most destructive of Kel’Regar weapons, Summer’s Extinguisher plunges the world it is deployed on into a deep and permanent winter.
In the heart of the storm dwell the aerial creatures known as tempest blades.
At that moment the drizzle eased, and Ledoik could see as plain as day a blight upon the fields near the edge of the forest. Like a rock dropped into a pond, a wave of lighter shades of green emanated from the blights centre. Growing from the forest, where it was darkest, the field got lighter and lighter the further away it was from the blight. It was clear enough. The commander barked words, organising the archers, the few catapults they had and the giant rockslings to this side of the battlements. He motioned them to aim towards the blight, the dark patch near the fields edge
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Feet forever on the path; smile forever on it's lips. It walks roads beaten and forgotten alike through day and night. With it's troupe of mindless puppets, it is accosted not by beast nor fiend nor monster. For they know that Terror walks past this night.
Death travels with the Gandacai.