Sure, everyone ‘round these parts knows who Dan the Dastardly Dog is. Last I heard the ARC had him cornered up in Demadex Canyon, a little silver mining town in the Arizona territory…
An angel who sacrificed wings to save the world
He devoted his existance to the destruction of the undead, and the demonic Lord Diavolo in particular. Now, thousands of years later, he must fight himself to fight the darkness.
To many, the clerics of the Gods of Death are reviled as evil monsters, conspirators of demons, and raisers of undead armies. How often is the common perception wrong?
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.
Khass was one of the greatest friends I ever had. So of course, what choice did I have but to save him?
Dear gods above, what have I done?
Was this to be his last sight, then? These bloody-red gums, these rusty, iron teeth? Where were the Gods to defend him from Bloody Smile?
Jenya was never quite able to explain to herself how she ended up on a pirate crew. But five years out on the Swiftbolt, and she’s having the time of her life.
A lot of travelling singers have a flame or incessant longing in their heart.This woman’s heart holds something more as well.
Few can match the monk for physical accievement. Few monks can match Ember, the Disciple of the wind…
Always on the cutting edge of fashion and the talk of the courts, Mialee the Beautiful is the supermodel of the fantastic world…
quick of wit, strong of sword arm, and irresistable to the ladies, Redgar the valiant is the epitome of the heroic warrior.
Dracia Eldren was a sharp featured woman. Her long greying hair was pulled back into a severe coif. Narrowed black eyes studied the potential Princess stand-ins. Darcia was well schooled in the ways of ettiquette. She was a seasoned Mistress. Her name was well known about the different Kingdoms and Queendoms.
She was the woman you contacted when you wanted your daughter to become the well cultured and well taught pillar of nobility. She was the woman who schooled young princesses on the fine art of being noble. Dracia was as strict as they come. Years of practice allowed her to use a switch upon her subject without leaving any marks. Only a sharp stinging pain as a reminder of their failures. She lives for her work.
If you wanted to infiltrate a kingdom with a doppleganger…you needed the help of a professional. One who knew all the ends and outs of Princess behavior.
Her dark grey coat hardly never touched the ground as she walked. Her back arched and her head held up proudly. Darcia fingered the switch at her side as she studied these potentials. These potentials were of poor condition. Some of them were farmer’s daughters. Pathetic. She had her work cut out for her. At all times there would need to be at least three princess replacements in training. They would have to learn together. Eat together and train together. Every movement would have to be perfect. And she only tolerated perfection.
Worldly girl from a small northern berg, who likes to get in trouble.
Once trod upon, now brightly shines, a mage fed by what to death declines…
Cold to the core, he is a rather young drow who has no friends and is very quiet and keeps to himself
Sir Whitewing, a typical knight, loyal to his lord to his death and couragous as all get out. Currently leading an army of 10,000 soldiers east to battle the swamp ogres that threaten the borders. Charismatic and rash, he will charge recklessly into battle for his friends, without heed for his life. Smart and out-going he isn’t what most noble’s sons would be.
Saint Duncan is dead, and lies in his tomb, but every year thousands will visit it to lay their hands on the cold stone, and whisper a prayer to the patron saint of exorcism.
izkandar is an Ifrit, a fire elemtal of mideastern lore. he would be at home in a desert or asian steppe setting.
Eyes darkened with kohl, and a long trailing cotehardie, Prince Graeme is a potent sorcerer and eccentric young lord with his eyes set to one goal, the throne of the land.
The party has found the source of the strange creatures roaming the countryside. The rift in this reality glows with a silver hue, rippling with the wind but never moving. They step through and are immediately assaulted with the scent of rotting meat, some have to muster all their strength not to vomit. Strange cries similar to the beasts the party had faced before can be heard in the distance. Looking around, they see they are in a forest of grey and red rather than the normal brown and green. The trees are sticky to the touch and writhe, perhaps to get away or perhaps as a warning.
The deeper the party goes, the more the forest seems to slither and move underfoot. The cries get closer and more numerous. Creatures lurk in the shadows, all the same color of their surroundings. Whatever the party came in here for, they had better do it fast.
The forest of flesh is waking up, and it is so very hungry.