A mercenary for hire. If you can handle the foul stench of dead dog, sweat and grease.
"Yeeah!" the old man shouted as he made a dramatic flurry with his chalk - the mounted knight now bearing a stylized lance as it bore down on the many-headed dragon before it.
Aher Wolfhound, called Wolfhound The Historian, a man crushed by the weight of the world’s cruelty
One of the Piemaster’s most devilish associates.
Just another Salvorathan captain, one of the surprisingly few, but entrenpenurial folks.
Nenni-0036.2 is a slight, even tiny Oraki, who has taken for herself the mantle of the cat who walks alone.
If you see a dirigible flying in the air, yell out "Issrie, Harel, Moore, Jesai, Anmae! as it might be the Sky Willow.
"Yes, there are some unusual patterns to these - her patients, but we have nothing to prove anything other than statistical anomalies."
The kingdom of Shyvora is known for its inclusion of non-humans. One of their best fighting Dukes is a tree…
"Whatcha doin? What for? How you gonna do it? I just wanna know. I wonder about a lot of things. Don’t you wonder about stuff? You do? I can help you, if you want me to. That way we can both know."
Heroes, like legends, usually have a basis in fact. And, just like with legends, the facts rarely live up to the myth.
George the Dragonslayer is one such hero.
A demon’s kiss burns with lust and with shame. So do their secrets and their magic.
Space-Faring, Hard-Rocking, Metal-Grinding, Star-Tripping, Deathdealing, Dwarves.
A Watch Officer tasked with combatting gangs throughout the city. His network of contacts is remarkable.
A priestess-turned-bouncer because of her devotion to her faith.
A gravedigger who defies the stereotypes. A regular at the Mausoleum.
Why did you buy all those Iron Spikes?
"You may have wondered what lead me down this path? It was the simple observation I made while escavating the tomb of an ancient chieftan If only these bones could talk…"
From the personal account of Meridah Onware, in discussion with Professor Siana Tamar.
"... I *hate* being right."
Thirty princes. Sons of kings, rescuers of princesses. Or something like that.
As far as everyone knows, the Maze has always been there; the strange pair of gates set in the side of a mountain a common feature in every painting of the area, no matter how ancient. One white, one red, nobody knows what they're made of but they resist any attempt to damage them; they’re always slightly cool to the touch no matter the weather, they have a very reflective surface, and if you look at them in a bright light, sometimes it looks as if they glow on their own.
The important thing is what’s on the other side of them, of course. The Maze itself is a strange place where the normal rules are suspended, and its own set takes their place. It’s a place filled with puzzles and riddles, monsters and traps; it’s always consistent with itself in any single run but is never the same two times around, and sometimes you could swear it has a sadistic streak, delighting in tricking the unwary adventurer.
It is a dangerous place, as so many people will rush to tell you; most people who go in never come out, and even those who do usually end up scarred for life. They also bring out with them enormous piles of riches, which is why people keep going in anyway.