To see an Alerion, is to be blessed. The lords of the sky are a sign of good offering and an omen of well being. Welcome the feeling into your heart and let the warmth cascade into your soul. You will be a better person if you do.
- Daeser, Scholar and Wiseman.
When in towns or near human habitation, be careful what you use your swords on, for that large sluglike Velvet Worm you might be facing could well be someone’s beloved family pet.
Often mistaken for the mystical Black Lotus, the Black Oleander is a common blooming plant found in temperate swamps.
To the vulture, the body of the lion down below seemed to be a tasty morsel. It appeared to be slightly swolen with the beginnings of decay, but that was to be expected. He dived down, landed beside it, and bit deeply inside it.And the body exploded, showering him with entrails, blood, and a strange dust.
He preened himself to get as clean as possible, ate his fill and flew off. And an hour later he fell dead to the ground, and his body began to swell with the spores and fibres of the Corpse’s Revenge.
The numorous denizens of Thanethia all in one place.
The Hill Folk are friendly, as well known for their crafts as their crops.
To see one of the wolfkin running is an inspiring sight, they move as if they had wings instead of legs, as if they were not tied to the ground, but could soar among the clouds
The children of the Sea of Pandemonium, the Viles of Salt are always thirsty, and they draw water from living beings with even a single brush from their crusty white flesh, dessicating those who are touched.
The Seyeverasin are supernaturally excellent musicians- no other can play a cello as well as them, and when the moon wanes, one may hear their haunting phantom strains echoing about night-time mountain cliffs, by dark pools, and in places where mortals no longer go or have never gone.
The Lavas are animalistic warrior-demons who converge in packs like lice on the inconceivable walls of Hell, filled with inconceivable fury and berzerk bloodthirst.
Where the ships float, empty, and the ocean lay wide and empty, where the northern lights shine and the winds chill live the Gesthari. Wraithlike predators who ride the storms.
Blibs are generally genial in nature, posessing malicious thoughts only for the flying insects they eat. But regardless of their peacful predispositions, bodily harm is inevitable if one happens to be standing in a blib’s shadow as it falls out of the sky.
“It is said that the shadows hold many dangers, and that is true. I am one of those dangers.” - Saja Jyn
“It is not merely the things lurking within the shadows that you must be wary of. Sometimes, the shadows themselves can be your enemy.” - Moraten Li
A thief’s invaluble companion, this little invertebrate is a must-have among burglars determined to pull off an extremely difficulte heist.
As long as the thief in question, isn’t too squemish about what his little accquisition feeds on..
Whenever the earth trembles and shakes, it is the children of the Stinging One furious that the nourishment due to them, has been denied. Honor them unceasingly by sating their hunger, or the earth itself will swallow man-kind whole to feed them’‘.
-Taken from the Arahuain Codex, the most sacred text known to the priests of Ixtili, the Stinging One.
Adapted to the northern tundra, these hardy little insects dwell among the Fireleaf ferns…
In lakes throughout the East, these lake squid are as plentiful as fish.
This odd, fern-like plant taps into the power of fire to protect itself and prosper amid the cold northern tundra…
“The last thing we ever saw was its inky tail as it swept under the door. I fear the scions of Durnthar have taken yet another piece of us.” - Gould Maran, Keeper of the Throne Seal
What happens when the very fabric of magic is transformed into something else by accident. When the theories of transference are shattered due to lack of preperation and study?
As long as you do not experiement around your stash of magic scrolls, luckily you will never know.
Wytchwolde-Under-Ash, once a great Thorpe, was razed to the ground by the ruthless, and truth told more than slightly deranged, Porcelain Princess and her henchmen, the Purifiers. When the flames had at last subsided, and a kaleidoscope of swirling, dull-gray ash choked the sky, nine hundred acres of old growth iron spruce, black larch and weeping birch, was burned to utter cinders, along with the entire coven of witches comprising the Sisterhood of the Silver Teat.
Now, centuries later, the forests are somewhat re-grown, and the town of Foolswater stands where Wytchwolde-Under-Ash once did. It is said that even to this day, one can still find ashes in the otherwise potable well-water of this village. Once a year during the Winter Solstice, the “Ash-Wind” comes to Foolswater, a suffocating black cloud that passes quickly but leaves dead birds and animals in its wake, darkening the trees, and staining the sky with black snow. The inhabitants of the village know better than to be caught outside during the day-long Ash-Wind. Everyone is locked snugly inside, singing old hymns that curse and re-curse the burned witches who once called this place home.