A beast made of writing; a strange, sad, and beautiful being that haunts the libraries and universities of the Sacred World
Forget the rickety, fragile skeletons. Remove all thoughts of the limping, weak zombies. Shrug off thoughts of blood-dependant vampires. Whereas the former are reflections of necromatic magic, the Mogrolyth is a creation derived from the pure essence of unholy power - namely pain.
Undead are, simply put, among the most horrific things one can think of. Can you imagine anything more frightening than a being which is dead and yet still walks? Can you imagine the horror of being faced by the hollow shell of being, a hollow shell which must feed?
“The last thing we ever saw was its inky tail as it swept under the door. I fear the scions of Durnthar have taken yet another piece of us.” - Gould Maran, Keeper of the Throne Seal
Several arson attacks, and two deaths later, as the Mayor retreated from the ashy figure before him and his curtains went up in flame, he decided that burning the Bishop had been a very bad idea.
Sing to me and I shall write, on lilies, poetry of the night.
Created as a weapon by the ancient sorceror-primotologists of the Iron Triangle Nation, the Cutsman still stalks the underhalls of the city of Mehxaiyul, a spectre of blood and blades.
Crawling among the garbage and offal, the detritus of what men call civilization, the myrie bugs claim their own small domains. They eat, and breed, and wait…
Despair! Despair! The Dread Crow’s Glare!
God forbid that I should go to any Heaven where there are no horses.
- R. B. Cunninghame-Graham
Dont mind him, he’s just a rag man
Clochardshire resident, common quote
These ghastly beings are corrupted to do the bidding of Hosok, The Hand That Sees
Think of any bizzare life-form, WHATEVER life-form that lives a not-so-standard way. Not the way common sense would expect it. Make it in some way logical or not, just forget the boring everyday logic.
All too often, a new magical creature, or plant is not seen with wonder or awe, but rather a keen eye for exploitation. In the often violent and brutal realm of role-playing, the wonders of nature are often overlooked, and never realized. I though I would start this thread to see if anyone else had any ideas along these lines. With that being said, may I present…
Also going by the names ‘Mageweed’, ‘Sorceror’s Moss’ and ‘Puff-Wizard’, these tiny little shoots can have a variety of uses to the canny alchemist.
For the coddling of the weak and mewling shall one day be the Downfall of All Races!
—Morkoel Rasher, denouncing Moleskin in verse.
Many magical items adventurers seek out help them carry more loot, keep themselves fed and healthy, or just simply hack the bad guys to itty bitty bits. This one lets their loot carry itself.
In lakes throughout the East, these lake squid are as plentiful as fish.
In the dank,dense areas of the world where the vigorous and the decaying are intertwined and indivisable, lives the wise bagabond. But getting him to impart his knowledge is quite a chore.
Lutazum is an immense (32’ at the top of it’s shell) tortoise which walks on huge 2’ thick legs. It is dark green with speckles and looks about with suprising intelligance. On top of its shell are strapped leather containers of all description.
AutoMedon – A mechanical poet of renown not for his vast catalog of poetry, but for his complete lack of anything written or spoken, having had no output in his programmed profession. His creator is unknown or at least unaccredited, and there are those in great number in the artistic world who wonder and marvel at his inability to produce poetry, crediting that flaw to his creator who is unknown or at least un-credited. There is also a small faction of scholars who believe that when he finally, finally speaks, it will be the most beautiful or sorrowful verse ever spoke or will ever be spoken. Whether his creator is among either group or dead is unknown. AutoMedon sits alone under a tin roofed enclosure, upon a stone chair, with his gaze off in the distant as if thinking.
“It’s strange to look at this mechanical man and think what thoughts are working through its’ workings or even if the damn thing is” – Aralis of Qurim, poet and pottery salesman