Wooden constructs skilled in the art of battle as well as extermination.
The Harakan have been created with only one purpose in mind. They hunt the despised slaves of the Empire
This just in from the BBC. It seems a number of medieval archers and swordsmen have stopped a Grinch Attack in Nottingham mall. We take you live to....
A.k.a. Belcher, Fleshbag, Mr. Soupy, Spitter, or a Walking Cauldron
Support for your zombie legions...
It may be wondered why packs of wolves, Giant Spiders and other such animals would attack PCs, when said PCs are normally armed to the teeth with deadly weapons and spells. Surely it would make more sense to attack weaker prey? Sometimes it is because the PCs are threatening the animal's territory or cubs or egg sac. Sometimes the animals may be crazed with hunger. Or it may be because the animals have become infected by Atissi worms.
Have you noticed that The Elves all belong to the same culture, all speak the same langauge, and all seem to be equally good at everything? I have a theory about that.
Descended from humanity, the orcs of Kuramen are a far cry from the bloodthirsty savages of many other worlds.
Flame fowl, brightest red chickens you will ever see, nice feathers for fletching arrows, but I'd pass on the omlet.
More subtle than artillery, Mul'Tals, the siege-vine of the Kel'Regar, is more than capable of reducing the strongest of defenses to rubble, growing, twisting, and devouring its way through them.
"For days, we've heard nothing but cricketsong, from the coming of dust to an hour past dawn. Nothing he happened, but I'm sure something will."
last journal entry, Traggion the Explorer
Is not disease the rule of existence? There is not a lily pad floating on the river but has been riddled by insects? -Henry David Thoreau
When a mission becomes something more.
The Kir’bret’rasach is the Kel’Regar answer to the question of the main battle tank. More than one foe has been caught unaware by its massive strength and tearing claws.
have made thee as no other. All the treasures of the earth shall lie between thy eyes. Thou shalt cast thy enemies between thy hooves, but thou shalt carry my friends upon they back. Thy saddle shall be the seat of prayers to me. And thou fly without any wings, and conquer without any sword.
Undead abominations born of the Light, the glow of the Accursed’s warped flesh strikes terror into those who behold it.
Beware this wizardly cadaver! His spells might not kill you, but you will wish they had…
"Oh, there goes another make-believe
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.