Incomplete and unlikely to be finished.
30 Warriors -- Freemen and Captives -- to populate your arenas.
A young sorcerous vampire with a penchant for making zombies.
"Magic is like telling a lie," Calypso told his latest bunch of would-be apprentices. "It doesn't matter if it's real or not as long as everyone believes it."
Think twice before giving your children extreme in utero biomodification. Your decision will last for my lifetime.
"Uncle Humblestaff?" the young hero responded. "Of course I know the man. Wouldn't have had a chance at the academy without a word from him. He's the big guy over there, surrounded by all those adventurers."
What kind of man orders the death of the King?
Like the mythical hydra, the Illuminati have many heads and even more hands. The minions of the Illuminati might work to their hidden master's ends without ever knowing the design of their work, or for whom they indeed work for.
Herein lies the histories of Warpriest Lazarus, righteous fist of Tridoa. Lord Lightward the Lunar Hammer.
Herein lies the birth of Lazarus Lightward the Hellpriest; Trickster of Devils and Master of the Bloodied Moon.
“Many hungry people in these parts and the roads are dangerous. So you have a choice, you can give us most of your provisions to feed the starving, or all your silver to pass safely. The choice is yours, wanderer.”
30 cult members, of varying levels of sanity and skill. Divided into Guilds for convenience and clarity. Could potentially be used as 30 gang members, depending on your needs.
""I am." Is reportedly the shortest sentence in the English language. Could it be that "I do." is the longest sentence?" - George Carlin
Sometimes the old ways are best. A pivotal undead sorcerer.
Captain Aubrey surveyed the deck of the captured sloop. He was amazed that such well run ship could crewed by such a motley gang of men. He turned to the doctor and wondered, "No man is born into piracy. What were these many fellows before they took up the black flag? Surely they can not all share the same story."
Help wanted, needs more events. No voting yet please.
Important NPCs within Machias.
"Impatient as well as stupid, some virtuous whip you are." Snap tilts her head to the side with a smile as her drumming fingers increase in tempo. "I assure you that my patience is vast." The man stops in his tracks stare Snap down, her expression remains unchanged. "Vast, not infinite. I am but a human so I am sure something could cause me to break my vows." Hastily he resumes filling the order. As Snap walks out the door with the goods the shopkeep grabs your arm. "That is a monster chained by monks robes, I have stared down raging barbarians and never seen such hate in their eyes."
A character sheet for one of the main characters in my 'modern' war story that I am writing. Contains statistics, history and motivation.
Born to King John XVII, Hope did not get standard princess treatment. Yes, she was locked away in a tower, and yes, there was the standard moat of flaming lava, but unlike all the other spoiled brats, she didn't get a dragon. Hope Rexian had to make do with a demon. And this particular demon couldn't even breathe fire! Simply pathetic job done by the cosmos. Hope may have gotten the valiant-knight-who-happens-to-be-called-Prince-Charming-riding-in-and-killing-guardian-on-noble-steed treatment, but some things just won't do. You can't just mess with tradition like that!
The gnome hefts the giant tome situated on his back and then pushes his round spectacles up his protruding nose. He rubs the tip of his nose, knowing that he should really stop studying with his face so close to the books. The skin would sometimes rub off the tip during long hours of recording and study. Specks were moving on down the road, and he produces a spyglass from a loop on his hip. Through the lens, he spots a group of adventurers. He grins from ear-to-ear and gives a hoot, almost losing his balance due to the weight of the book on his back.
"These fellows look like they have purpose! It's time to find out what they're up to!"
The Nomin gypsies have a fiddling competition every year, known as the Danse de Velose. Beaters hit out the rhythm on taut drums and the competitors start to play, slowly at first. Youngsters can compete, but are soon pulled away by worried mothers, before the competition becomes too dangerous. After two hours the haunting tune has become dazzlingly fast. You can resign at any time, but the moment you make a mistake you receive an arrow through the neck. Strings may snap, but the players must play on. The whole affair never lasts much longer than three hours, and the last fiddler playing is crowned king of the gypsies.