“Beep Click, Identify yourself or be removed.”
Not strong of body, and questionable of mind, she has a kind heart and one special talent. She is not a healer of wounds, or even of people, she heals the souls of creatures. She feels sympathy for even the most hideous and terrible of creatures, and when her tears for them fall upon them, their hearts are moved and their evil ways ended(for a little while at least).
“That was the second lynching this month. And last week they haven beaten some old sod that could barely crawl home.”
“Well, he was a drinker and bad to his wife, sir. It is really hard work they do, and not for much pay. But sir, we are doing wonderfully, all is going as planned and better!”
“Yes, the cathedral could be built months before expected, if we can keep up this speed. You are all doing great work, I’ll be sure to inform the Patriarch. Just take care no accidents happen anymore.”
This bundle of beautiful sparkling delight conceals a far darker side…
A socially inept and ugly human monk, with a smattering of arcane skills, on a quest of vengeance to find his mentor’s killers.
When did it all start? He would never know for sure, although he traces it, like a finger on a map following the broad river back to the invisible thread of the beginnings, to one evening early winter.
(Name translates directly from ancient Egyptian as: Strong Protector, the Hidden One.) A mysterious shaman appearing without regard to wheres and whens, upon the divine bidding of other Realms. An entity of legend, belonging to a legendary and ancient sect.
Clef was a regular gnome, just like all of the other gnomes. It just happened that his area of interest was not so agreeable to the other gnomes…
Martin Eltsin hated alcohol, and felt he had a very good reason to do so.He had seen it cause a lot of harm on the Pier Point streets…
It was rumoured that John Chard had made a deal with a demon, but perhaps it was mere idle rumour and speculation.Or maybe not…
Most see the hunch-backed girl with the black hair, and give her a few copper pieces out of pity or mercy. These she spares from her nightly rooftop hauntings, as her hunch holds a darker secret than a deformed spine.
All know that Elves cannot die, and that Men do. All know that Men go unto the Underworld upon their death, and that the Elves retire unto the Spiritual Elysium. Yet in the Great Scheme, where goes the one with one foot in the Underworld, and one foot in the Realm of Spirit?
An unusual woman, with twelve debts she can never repay.
He is a very powerful mage for his age at 26. He has led a very normal life, well at least as normal as you can get with a mage.
Honor, ethics, morality, civilization, these are mere trappings. Playthings that people use to hide from the world. They’ve all forgotten. No sword is untried by fire, and so it is with man.
I am the fire that will test man.
Once trod upon, now brightly shines, a mage fed by what to death declines…
izkandar is an Ifrit, a fire elemtal of mideastern lore. he would be at home in a desert or asian steppe setting.
Throughly despising the intrigue and scandals of the royal court,Prince Michael has never mourned the loss of his crown and inheritance to a treacherous advisor of his father’s. No,inflicting vengeance on the usurper and reclaiming his throne is too petty for him. He has a more important quest to fulfill..
“The abominations that walk this earth when they should lie quiet in their graves must be destroyed, and I am he who shall do this! So it sayeth in the Book of Fury!”
How much life can the stroke of a brush place to a canvas? Perhaps art does imitate life, the Artist knows. The Artist is usually looking for new models.
It seemed like a great place to camp. The clearing was good sized and sheltered from the wind. The brook just a few feet away. There is a natural hallow to keep the horses.
Then the night came.
It was like it became a different place. The temperature dropped. The wind, which does not seem to disturb cloth, almost cuts through you like an arctic wind. No one can sleep, as the soft ground has turned hard. The horses are uneasy. The Bats are flying over and stopping in the trees.
And then there is the eyes. There are glowing eyes just inside the tree line watching your group. The mages and clerics can detect nothing, but there is still something there.
(yet there is nothing at all... The Darkness will do nothing unless the players do something to it. And even then it will all seem to be a conincidence.)
Of course, in the morning, it all becomes sweet and light.