The Wastes are never silent. There is always a baleful music on the wind.
Of fire, but not elementals. Short-lived, yet intelligent. Bound to this world they are, more than most of its mortal inhabitants.
Any being or creature made of spirit energy that exists on the astreal realm and non material realms.
Gentlemen, BEHOLD! The celestial spider!
The individual beings of the race that came between the creation of the world, and the creation of the mortal races.
These creatures are foul things that prey on the weakness of loss. Their home society, and indeed, their home, in completely unknown, as all that have been found have been killed to out standards.
"Such well behaved children… never a word out of them and they do just as they’re told. They seem so pale though, I wonder if they’re sick…"
There is more than meets the eye to these nightmarish insects…
It is the tortured and imperfect souls who most often cannot find a clear path to the afterlife. Weighted down by sins unforgiven, sins for whose forgiveness they never ask, sins they never regretted.
To be added to Remaking Undead when finished
"They come with the mist, and fight to protect us. Protecting their people meant so much to them that they kept fighting for us after they fell. Count yourselves blessed that the Company of Stars watches over us."
- Mylnes, Ethalani Elder
Evil gives birth to many foul creatures, of these creatures the Negasek have emerged from a womb of darkness and terror. These powerful insect-like creatures radiate the dark force that gave birth to them, born of sheer negative energy, nearly dripping with the foulness of their diabolic nature.
A large predatory mammal that can run or fight on two legs, not requiring sleep these demons were brought onto the world to create killers, in the world of werewolves these could be considered alpha males.
God forbid that I should go to any Heaven where there are no horses.
- R. B. Cunninghame-Graham
A tiny life-form not consciously malignant but nevertheless to be careful of…it could get you into a lot of trouble!
Bursting with an incredible, terrible complexity, the Oraki are a powerful breed of mechanoids, once that blurs the line between machine and man from the other direction.
Standing atop the parched hill and triumphantly displaying their gory trophies , the berserker s begin to shriek aloud their terrible, keening war-cries, confident that the coming battle will belong to them as the enemy flees before their frenzied onslaught, all its discipline and training forgotten in the face of a foe that harbors no fear at all for any enemy born of humanity.
Just as the red mist clouding their eyes begins to fill their minds with fantasies of mass slaughter, a mass of shadowy figures suddenly materialises out of the darkness, charging towards the berserkers with long, loping strides that lend them speed that is at once awesome and terrifying to witness, even to the crazed minds of these onlookers.
As a heavy,furry shape hurtles into the the commander, he falls to the ground, his throat ripped out by the savage fangs of his assailant. As his life ebbs away from him in the rapidly expanding jet of blood gushing from his ripped arteries, savage growls become the lullaby lulling him into the never-ending slumber of death.
A great supernatural serpant - Wise yet mercurial
“They just keep coming. You cut one down, two more are right behind it. We can’t win, they just keep coming…”
- Unnamed soldier, overheard at the battle of Caele Aran
“Why should we send our young men off to die when we can manufacture the War Walkers for the same purpose?”
- War-Theurge Ceylon of the Fourth Dynasty Army
I would be willing, yes glad, to see a battle every day during my life.
George Armstrong Custer
The Pocket Ironbones, whilst not quite the war machines that they were intended to be, have been useful in the service of Banhosea all the same.
These magical boots empower the wearer with several abilities at once. Wondrous leaping, water-walking, and even flying! Yet the boots possess an insidious curse upon them as well. A deep and almost unfathomable (by others) feeling of listlessness, boredom, and even apathy affects the boots' wearer at all times whenever they are donned. Magic will not dispel the effects.
And so while the wearer of the boots can perform great feats of action during combat or at other opportune times and key moments, they'll never really want to do so, complaining "Meh, what's the point of it all anyway?" or "I would fly up and save us all guys, but sigh, maybe uhm, soonish, mkay? Bit bored by this whole burning tower at the moment."
Naturally the boots wearer's fellow PCs will grow quickly frustrated with this arrangement. There have been numerous occasions when one angry PC literally tears off the boots from his companion's feet in anger, and dons them in turn, only to immediately suffer from the same effects.
The solution lies in constantly "motivating" the boots' wearer with successful rolls, involving threats, flattery, fiery speeches, or even bribery.