A bald, runic-tattoo covered elven mercenary who looks out only for himself.
A weary adventurer-turned-lord. His fief is slowly growing, but threatened by growing forces of humanoids… and approaching winter.
Betrothed to Skundaath Lord of Chaos, Celdea lives in perpetual fear of being found and taken to be his bride.
Every now and then someone truly extraordinary is born, even to a race of kobold like creatures.
He is 972 years old and has a wife. He congregates with any good creature and will help any one in need. He is a good black smith and can work with most meterials.
A flamboyant sea captain with a small crew and vessel. He searches the seas for any and all cultural legends, simply out of curiousity.
A powerful conjurer with an affinity for iron, Sorn has paid a terrible price for his power.
After 25 years of the nightmares of the destruction of his village, he is back. Back again to strive for revenge and cleanse the nightmares from his sleep.
What really happens when an angel falls from grace?
Lancid is. Lancid does. Lancid cares not.
Soft of voice, light of eye, dark of hair, and also of heart, Hippomenes the Fearful holds the province of Colistia in an iron grip.
She’s a were hybrid (hybred?) Her mother is fox were her father is wolf were. She’s a healer, but also a warrior. She does not like to fight, but will if she has to. And she will to defend what she thinks is right. She is skilled in everything else needed to survive in the wilderness. Such as tracking, hunting, etc. She is always accompanied by her spirit guide, SkyStar, a large male wolf. They can speak telepathically to one another. And they also share a common language, wolf.
In life, the mage E’grole was feared and respected - as most magi are - Unfortunately, E’grole could not accept death as bieng the ‘period’ of the book of life, so he decided to write a sequel.
A totally throw away .. cannon fodder ..shove it in the mouth of the monster and run for it type of character. Useful though for ‘taken with a pound of salt’ information and running small unsavory errands.
Roland might seem at first to be a typical ranger. But he’d sooner kill you than look at you.
She might not seem to be much of a threat. Not at first. Just pray you never meet her when she’s hungry.
The priest of a deity that never seemed to need one.
At first glance, Gray appears to be a normal human. A little exotic looking, but that’s it. But appearances are so often decieving…
Wary and suspicous of human and Orc alike, the halfbreed Gorlock trusts no one, not even his fellow half orcs whom he despises.Though he like his brethen is fated to be shunned by both humans and Orcs, he is troubled by their brutal code which demands that that which is not given freely must be taken by brute force.It is this sense of deceancy which marks him as a truly unique being among his kind…
Kagero is amoung rare kind of Ninjas serving that she is a woman. She spent her years as her Grandfather’s pupil until he was killed by her major enemy, the Kawagami. She fought with Tsimbaro a trusted friend until he disappeered. She now is a Ninja Wanderer following where her feet take her.
Wytchwolde-Under-Ash, once a great Thorpe, was razed to the ground by the ruthless, and truth told more than slightly deranged, Porcelain Princess and her henchmen, the Purifiers. When the flames had at last subsided, and a kaleidoscope of swirling, dull-gray ash choked the sky, nine hundred acres of old growth iron spruce, black larch and weeping birch, was burned to utter cinders, along with the entire coven of witches comprising the Sisterhood of the Silver Teat.
Now, centuries later, the forests are somewhat re-grown, and the town of Foolswater stands where Wytchwolde-Under-Ash once did. It is said that even to this day, one can still find ashes in the otherwise potable well-water of this village. Once a year during the Winter Solstice, the “Ash-Wind” comes to Foolswater, a suffocating black cloud that passes quickly but leaves dead birds and animals in its wake, darkening the trees, and staining the sky with black snow. The inhabitants of the village know better than to be caught outside during the day-long Ash-Wind. Everyone is locked snugly inside, singing old hymns that curse and re-curse the burned witches who once called this place home.