A very brief look at some minor Elemental familiars.
In a time before time, the creation of Baymaroen was primordial as all worlds are. Forces of energy clashing in a climactic font of brilliance to form the bedrock of the world. Silence issued forth for an eternity but lasting an instant. The appearance of the Firstborn was instantaneous. Life created itself from the cosmic essence left behind by creation. This is the story of the first war, the Untold War.
This is a test wiki sub. Feel free to edit and play with it. Lvl 3 and up should be able to directly edit the sub.
Request help. Check Strolen's and Pieh's XP and then HoH it and see if they both gained 5xp. Also, please vote on it and see if both their XP goes up. I can't vote on my own subs. ;)
The follow string of Mirror-folk evolutions, Mihradhz, Mihrral, and Mihradamagus, are collectively known as The Mirr. They are all curious and slightly annoying, each in their own way. They advance through their lives by pestering the rare mortals who visit their plane.
What do you mean, the little wriggly ones you throw at fish or the big rock ones that squish people?
Six months of hunting, six months of research and paying coin to scholars and sages, and now that we have the legendary wand of Geohadris the Stone King, it only summons stupid boulderkin? I am outraged beyond imagination!
Mapmaker's bane, a few of these can ruin a decade of cartography!
Flame fowl, brightest red chickens you will ever see, nice feathers for fletching arrows, but I'd pass on the omlet.
Half salad, half meat, I dont know what to make of these things, but without them our expedition would not have made it past the first oasis
Anjet of Cenn Caerwaith
Beware this wizardly cadaver! His spells might not kill you, but you will wish they had…
Therianthropes? Lycanthropes? Animorphs? Homo-Zoological-Hybrid-Sapiens? Manimals? Take your pick.
In the bleak midwinter frosty wind made moan, Earth stood hard as iron, Water like a stone; Snow had fallen, snow on snow, Snow on snow, In the bleak midwinter, Long ago.
Christina Rossetti
English poet (1830 - 1894)
The dead, imbued with the divine essence of magic, walk again, ever hungry for the missing spark of a living soul.
"Is it just me, or is this cave moving?"
- Obin the Spelunker’s last words
"Though they walk as men and grow as weeds, they are neither; the angry dead, feeding the green with the rage until they walk again, yellowing bones bound by the twining green."
Pitiable creatures, wandering forever in search of that denied them, unable to rest even as they crumble away to little more than crawling wrecks of bones.
Slain by thirst and heat, these sad souls seek moisture - any moisture - to quench their eternal, burning thirst.
These ghastly beings are corrupted to do the bidding of Hosok, The Hand That Sees
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Damn 'ol thing it tis. Itches like nuthin I e'er felt. Stupid bugs, your the Poosker ye fool. Help me get rid o' these damnable things.
I hate to tell you this but you have what we liked to call, "Puces Barbe Morts", or undead beard fleas. And the only way to be rid of them is to cut off your beard and then burn the hair.
No! Just kill me it's less painful that way.