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.
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 VÃƒÂ©nat 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
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.
Though each drone possesses little intelligence of its own, together, they are the Kth’k'k’kt, who span the stars.
‘‘I tell you, if you seek to cross the dunes of the great desert alone, you will never return. Vile fiends dwell there, evil monsters that delight in feasting upon the flesh of men. I fear that if you persist in your foolish quest, you like the others before you, will end your days as a feast for these foul denizens of the desert’‘.
These lovely people had the unfortunate luck of living adjacent to a zenophobic bug race and a species that would defend their colonies
You can hear the song from miles away. The song is enchanting in a mild way. Even the plants sing this haunting tune all day. This gives you fair warning to be ready to dance to a different tune. You are leaving your country and entering theirs.
Jemas Lorne, the most celebrated poet of the age, was found dead, clutching a fragment of verse torn from his journal. The tantalizing fragment spoke of wealth:
Golden sands, empty and cold,
Treasure's crypt, forgotten gold.
Under stone, ancestor's doom,
Noble's prize, troubadour's tomb.
Rumours claim that the poet's father, an eccentric nobleman, had hidden much of his wealth before his death. Perhaps the missing journal has more clues?