This just in from the BBC. It seems a number of medieval archers and swordsmen have stopped a Grinch Attack in Nottingham mall.  We take you live to.... 

A murder of cr....  No, wait..... 

Just what the hell are those things?

Have you noticed that The Elves all belong to the same culture, all speak the same langauge, and all seem to be equally good at everything?  I have a theory about that.

Descended from humanity, the orcs of Kuramen are a far cry from the bloodthirsty savages of many other worlds.

Displaced natives, the alien Kebah-Di'i have taken to the new ways of their adoptive society with surprising gusto.

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.

Something flashes beneath the waves, a hint of green scales surfaces. A rainbow colored crest breaks the waters surface followed by a huge beast.

I set my teeth as we dashed for the ravine; Lillia had dropped back to cover us, and three dead warriors had already taught the tribesmen respect for her bow.  It wasn’t going to be easy, though, damn it - Chekumte, stripped to the waist, was all over blood, cut half a hundred times, and how even the tough old Chulik was going to survive the flight over the pass I had no idea.

Unbelievably, he barked out a harsh laugh - I’d never heard him laugh before.  "They thought me tough," he growled as we ran.  "But I was not really there; I was contemplating the light off of Iwynn’s Falls.  Their knives I did not notice after the first cuts."

"Alright," the sergeant rasped out, "The Grey Company will pay you seven silver pennies a week, grub included; you’ll have to provide your own kit and mounts.  Muster is tomorrow two hours after dawn—yeah, what is it?"

One of the three fox-men had stepped forward, raising a mailed hand.  His whiskers twitched as he drawled, "You are in error, sergeant.  My kinsmen and I are Khibils.  Of course we shall receive ten pennies a week."

I rolled my eyes, leaning on my shield.  Manannan’s eyeball, this was going to be a long commission.

"Well, now, my lady -" came the throaty velvet of the Fristle’s voice, as he lounged back against the heaped cushions and took a draw on his pipe, "- I did not expect so fair a supplicant."  His silver-grey tail slowly lashed from side to side, catching my gaze ...

I swallowed hard, grasped the bag of coin and the leather wallet of documents ever the more tightly, and bowed to the merchant prince.

The abominable servants of Igg’soteku.

With one of the most bizarre anatomies recorded the keerg are strange indeed. And that’s not mentioning the thirteen tentacles.

A reclusive race, the Ragori live deep in the heart of the Purvis Swamp.

Some people think that the Vénat are harmless, helpless, charming creatures. Despite their small size and gauzy wings, they are anything but. You underestimate them at your peril.

"Oh, there goes another make-believe

creature".

Adapted to the coldest of inhabitable worlds, the stocky Snowborn are the Starkin’s frozen cousins, set to defend them from threats from outside, using their terrible world itself as a weapon.

Fire is the purifier, let it cleanse the taint from the flesh of the mutant

Prelate Deacon Delhomme

A completely average race, similar to humans, but with a few small differences.

The muggers cornered the little goblin against the wall, when with a hissing noise he suddenly grew to double his size. Muscles bulged out from his body and they lokked at each other, then turned and ran. The Sproggan watched them go and grinned at the thought of how well he had fooled them, and when they were gone he deflated back to his normal size and went on his way.

Known as the Plateau of Dread, the desert where the civilization of the Thauns once shimmered is now a wasteland battled over by immortal tyrants.