Vastids - man-maimers who live in contaminated water areas and Balrin Algae.
Tihewgoe is a dark god of nightmares. Not the darkest and definitely not the biggest, but still a god in his own right.
When a thousand years of dust settled upon the worked stone floor of The Grey Tomb, a new sage was born. A creature, of dust, time, age, wisdom. The dust that was once the bodies of ancient wise men. It coalesced and swirled into being, small and wispy, dry as its home. It mutters words of wisdom for no one to hear. Begging its dark home for a soul to learn from.
High above the lands of the living, where frost and howling of the wind reign, the morbid monument to a faith long dead calls the deceased on a last pilgrimage.
The rotting ghoul sunk it's teeth into the girl's throat, tearing it open, and then laid her down, and as she died, so the rotting body that had murdered her ceased rotting. Milky white eyes became green ones with normal pupils. Maggots swarmed out of the body, the damage they caused healing rapidly,and the stench of flesh gone bad vanished. The Xarloccian swore to itself that it would always tread the path of Evil from now on, just one earlier act of Good had nearly rotted away it's body and sent it's soul to the Nine Hells.
Silent and invisible, the only herald of the arrival of Kayrun the Disintegrator is the screams of his victims.
In the dark one morning, the Bloated Black Beast slowly rose to the water's surface. Whence it crested, great gouts of flame erupted from its Misshapen Form and were hurled hundreds of feet in all directions. It dove again, and appeared as nothing more than an Inky Shadow of Malice. With no purpose, It swam on; occasionally cresting and flaming, but still without purpose.
This sea monster seeks to devour more than just mere flesh..
"Greetings, Mortal," Said the bubbly, hissing voice in his head… What the hell was that, he thought. "Not hell, the Ocean. Walk into the surf, my child. I will protect you."
She rose from the waters and cast her eyes across us. I dropped my spear, and the man who was moments before intent on my death did the same, letting his sword and shield fall to the sand at our feet. Let it not be said that the gods do not care for the deeds of men, nay they do care. And in our bloody case, they dissapproved.
Thirteen souls the devil took
And thirteen sons back he sent
Lust, Greed, Gluttony
Perversion, Wrath, Envy
Pride, Vice, Blasphemy
Sloth, Misery, Catastrophe
God of Strength in the Night, Hiding your Numbers, and The Silent Kill.
Herein lies the story of Aurali; the ghoul of Axtrami. The Vultuin Xactaki.
I know. I know. It sounds crazy. But look at it! Look at what it is doing. The lightning strikes! Three times right on top of us. The hail. It just struck our car. The Wind hitting the house so hard. It is after us. It wants something. And, if we can figure out what it wants, I say we give it to ... it.
Ever wonder what secret a Wizard’s beard holds? How did it get so long? Has this man really not shaved for that long?
The Yang to Lutazum’s Ying, the grand totem of the Maletanalu, the 5th tribe of the Hanaset.
Canst thou draw out leviathan with an hook?
Canst thou fill his skin with barbed irons?
or his head with fish spears?
"Such a delirious monstrosity would never be allowed by the Unconquered Sun! It is the spawn of the hell-fiends sent to do their foul work! It and those that brought it into being must be destroyed!" - Lux Sialos, Knight of the Shining Crusade
The individual beings of the race that came between the creation of the world, and the creation of the mortal races.
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?