It's always the creepy little kids
Also known as Kaiju Spawn, Magna-parasites, angel-spawn, sin spawn, and a variety of other terms
Methinks we have hugely mistaken this matter of Life and Death. Methinks that what they call my shadow here on earth is my true substance. Methinks that in looking at things spiritual, we are too much like oysters observing the sun through the water, and thinking that thick water the thinnest of air. Me thinks my body is but the lees of my better being. In fact take my body who will, take it I say, it is not me.”
A strange mask containing a merciless demon, a parasite on those around it.
They came upon us suddenly, no sound preceding them until the splashing of their feet drew our eyes towards them. The wolf-things neither howled or snarled as they tore into our ranks.
At one time it was thought that the substance known as Anagra Estratius, or Devouring Fire, was an alchemical substance, tainted by the infernal components that went into its making.
Written in support of the Flight of Retribution, a Cosmic Era splatbook
When we learned of these majestic creatures, what else could we do? Such potential!
A haunting remnant of the infernal realm, caught and exiled to suffer for eternity in the swamps of the mortal plane. Now it toys with mortals; luring them from their paths into it's light. Once in the boundaries of it's aura, the FlickerWikk will feed.
A Remake of the Will'o'the'Wisp/Jack'o'Lantern
Rumors of gold and more, spoken on the wind draw the greedy to their doom.
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.
A very brief look at some minor Elemental familiars.
A extra-dimensional symbiote
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.
Wytchwolde-Under-Ash, once a great Thorpe, was razed to the ground by the ruthless, and truth told more than slightly deranged, Porcelain Princess and her henchmen, the Purifiers. When the flames had at last subsided, and a kaleidoscope of swirling, dull-gray ash choked the sky, nine hundred acres of old growth iron spruce, black larch and weeping birch, was burned to utter cinders, along with the entire coven of witches comprising the Sisterhood of the Silver Teat.
Now, centuries later, the forests are somewhat re-grown, and the town of Foolswater stands where Wytchwolde-Under-Ash once did. It is said that even to this day, one can still find ashes in the otherwise potable well-water of this village. Once a year during the Winter Solstice, the “Ash-Wind” comes to Foolswater, a suffocating black cloud that passes quickly but leaves dead birds and animals in its wake, darkening the trees, and staining the sky with black snow. The inhabitants of the village know better than to be caught outside during the day-long Ash-Wind. Everyone is locked snugly inside, singing old hymns that curse and re-curse the burned witches who once called this place home.