"You would be wise not to cross me. I have powers that you cannot even begin to comprehend. Do not anger me, lest I turn you into a goose, fat and ugly. Then if you are lucky and I am in a forgiving mood, I won’t eat you for supper."
Based on Muro’s Archaic Words Challenge, the word myomancer.
Thirty Mages for every kind of magical world out there.
Do as thou Will…
“Do you trust me? Do you feel I can get you through this night?”
They looked unsure. Slowly, each nodded. One even spoke, “I believe you can get me through this night.”
“Good. I believe we can reach the morning light. Now here is what we need to do…...”
Clad in a rainment of silver scale and chain armor, Ixia is the second member of the Trinity
Creator of the Black Book, the primogen tome of necromancy, few names are as feared or reviled as that of Mastere.
Saddah, the patron of games. A mysterious woman you might see around games of luck, undoubtly another fan… or an evil spirit that will take the most driven gambler with her.
James does not have any intrest in power, money or any of the other things necromancers normally desire. He is a content man but as he is hounded by his former and disappointed master he is being pushed quite close to the edge.
A freed air elemental, with a reason to stick around.
A voice as supple as silk, a face hidden in the shadows of a hood, yet the words she speaks are colder than the grave and burn more furiously than any inferno.
The saloon was smokey on the hot prairie night. She looked over her fan at her fellow players. The fan hid her smile, but not the smile in her eyes. “Well Gentlemen, I think I won’t call you on that.” Her dollars hit the table. “I think I’ll raise.”
Thenadore is a small boy who always laugh and who is considered a child prodigy. However there is a secret concerning him. A secret few knows about.
Shelandra looks the part of a powerful Necromantic Sorceress. She is tall, pale, and coldly beautiful. She has a castle that always seems to have a storm over it. She has pet monsters. She has a small personal army of Skeletons. She scares the peasants and makes the local nobles uneasy. However, if pressed, nobody can actually recall her doing anything really Evil.
Psychic on Duty is all the aged red neon sign says in the storefront window. It is a small storefront and in a less than great section of town. You don’t expect much.
“Come in, come in. I knew you were coming.
How did I know? Your brother told me.
Yes, yes I know your brother died in the war several years ago, he has told me all about it.”
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?
When one cannot die, obsession with death is such a natural thing.
This might not be suitable for the squeamish or easily offended.
...And then the evil necromancer killed everyone and made them into zombies to do really evil things. I mean really evil, kicking puppies, eating kittens and making lewd sexual gestures at unsuspecting shoppers at Wal-Mart. Yeah and he had a severed head for a hat and was eating a sandwich made out of real lady-fingers…
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).
A healer of great power and kindness, she is rumored to even be able to heal the dead, if you can find her.
Stormbound, the ship rolls hard over to once side. All that is not strapped down is tossed violently overboard in a splash of freezing water.
There, on the horizon- a tower. Squat, it stands alone on a tiny island. However, it's the only land in sight, and any more of this ferocious storm will crush the boat to splinters.
Taking shelter within the ornate entryway of the squat tor, the party notes with interest that no signs of life break the silence of the stone tower. As they take another step forward, they realise why.
This is the fabled tower of Brenji, a rich merchant who wished none to share his enormous wealth. He constructed this tower to store his gold- trapped and ready for any potential thieves. But the ingenious pitfalls and scything walls are not the only dangers within the silent walls of the building. A guardian, left behind by Brenji, still stalks these very halls.
A rattling hiss echoes somewhere from below...