The crystal dragons of Sogth VII are strange and sinuous beasts, be they stalking across the land on their four legs, and swimming through the ammonia seas.
There it was, big as two horses and all scales and wicked looking head. thought we was alldead, we did. Then the beastie did the damndest thing. Instead of breathin fire on us, or cursin us with magic it started eatin one of the damned bushes.
Explorer Kurold the Hammer
The warrior flung himself to one side as a huge toothy head leapt out of the pool in front of him, gnashed at him and then withdrew "What is that thing?"
"A Giant River Wyrm, and it’s a good thing that they sicken so quickly, or you would have been wyrm food."
The Nightmare War did more than end the Old Empire, it turned a massive swath of once fertile land into the unimaginably hostile Wastelands, and populated it with beasts, horrors, and monsters.
Anjet of Cenn Caerwaith
It is said that the bite of a Manna Mosquito can turn someone with no magical power into a spellcaster, but few are willing to pay the price for such power.
With it’s ability to electrocute you with a magical bolt from it’s nose, mess with a Wandfish and you may well end up sleeping with the fishes.
Exotic birds for any game
Cooked or raw, they taste like camel urine. Unfortunately they are full of water and easy to catch. I’m tired of eating these sand-fish
Anjet of the Cenn Caerwaith
Beware the lords of the sky, in the wastelands even the would-be dragons give them a wide berth
Anjet of Cenn Caerwaith
These pale mutations may have once been children, or perhaps monkeys, now all that remain of their former origins is the humanoid shape of their bodies, all else having been twisted into a gross mockery of life…
In the darkness you notice a point of light erupt no bigger than a candle, quickly followed by several dozen more and a soft metallic sound, like a man at the dinner table sharpening his knife against a fork.
A swarm of what appears to be small gray chips of concrete leap and skitter across the ground from the shadows of the ruins towards you…
You hear a loud electronic buzzing, almost as if a runaway lawn mower mated to a taser gun is rampaging through the slimy cattails and weeds towards you before a swarm of huge flies erupt from the low scrub in front of you, electricity dancing between their mandibles.
The River Dragons are a beautiful, sleek race. Their irridescent scales are soft and almost invisible under a fast-racing current. As long as a long riverboat, they propel themselves upstream with occasional flaps of their powerful wings.
"When the dolphins and whales propel themselves into the air, it is a great spectacle and joy to watch. When the Salwar launch themselves, it is a terror."
Unleashed from the high white temples of Hosok in massive swarms, the Handvermin are among the lowliest and most disgusting of the children of the Hand That Sees
The whales of the Epoan skies…
A tree of somewhat macabre aspect - its coconut-sized fruit have hair-like fronds hanging down, suggesting decapitated heads dangling from the tree.
A gigantic insect, native to the arid badlands of northern Aquur, where fierce desert warriors roam the dunes, and the sand storms can flay a man to the bone in minutes.
Cold Comfort is a long-sword of star-steel, its blade giving off a wan, blueish light. Its grip is wrapped tightly in snow-serpent hide, and its pommel bears a single opalescent gemstone.
This blade is enchanted in such a way, that whoever wields it, begins to fall completely and irrevocably "in love" with the weapon. This love does not manifest itself as the expected reverence and bond formed between any warrior and his weapon, but as a deeper, truer love, one has for a soul-mate of the same species! The longer the wielder carries Cold Comfort the stronger and more disturbing this love becomes, and only the most powerful of magicks can potentially break the sword's insidious spell. The blade's owner will even speak to and coo to the weapon, convinced that the sword understands and returns this epic love.
If the blade's wielder somehow loses the weapon or has it taken away, they will become inconsolable, and will predictably go to "ends of the earth and back" to retrieve it at any cost. Such is the weapon's curse that even separation from it does not damper the feelings the owner has for the sword. Legends tell of several distraught and mind-addled knights who even years after losing the blade, still wander the country-side searching for their lost love. And woe be to the "new lover" if and when they find him or her.