A feral, neanderthal-like man whose become a (somewhat) king amonsgst men, sorta.
Do you know what this means? asked the healer, staring earnestly at the boy from beneath his bushy white eyebrows.
Xander shook his head, his lip trembling.
The healer’s felt a rush of sympathy for the child. he reminded him of Shalleah somehow. 13 years was such a young age to die.
“You have but three months left.” he said slowly and softly. Each word rang solitarily through the room, and though they were whispered they had more impact then anything the young boy had ever heard before.
A young man, disowned by his family, traveling the world in an attempt to redeem himself with his musical talent and his prowess with a sword.
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.
A possible answer to what happens to spells when a mage dies. If the spell is strong enough, say and enchantment or other permenant effect, part of the mages spirit may become lodged in the magic. It may be a way for items to gain some kind of intelligence, but a mage who has knowledge of this fact would be very hesitant about enchanting anyone or thing. He might have other plans for his afterlife than counting the change in your bag of holding.
Preists, I think, would have this sort of thing covered.