"Things were better in the old days," said the mage, "when you could watch the beautiful spellbook soaring on the air currants high above the geysers, and it would come to you to be fed. But they drove it into hiding, they did."
These pale mutations may have once been children, or perhaps monkeys, now all that remain of their former origins is the humanoid shape of their bodies, all else having been twisted into a gross mockery of life…
A swarm of what appears to be small gray chips of concrete leap and skitter across the ground from the shadows of the ruins towards you…
The dead, when buried without last rites, often find it impossible to rest easy…
The various intelligent species that inhabit Locastus, City of Mirrors.
A creature of perfect, unhuman beauty, until one notices its face….
The MoonÃ‚Â´s little alchemists
The various creatures that serve the Bloated Moon.
The airborne spies of the Bloated Moon
GET AWAY FROM ME YOU ZOMBIE FREAKS!
Last words of Derrius the Bold
"The walls moved!" Krunis exclaimed. This he was sure of it this time.
"Of course they did. They are trying to accommodate the additional room needed for tonight." Xarn returned matter-of-factly.
Living stones are tuned to one master to do his bidding.
Sometimes, the places remember. Where Destiny’s threads intertwine, echoes of the past live again.
The Ky’iish are greatly advanced in the arts of magic and created many strange and powerful materials and items. Some of their weapons were the most formidible artifacts found on Neyathis, dwarfing both physically and magically virtually all the works of man.
Dont mind him, he’s just a rag man
Clochardshire resident, common quote
The Caretakers of the Vast City - Stoneholt, a race of great skill, persistence, and antiquity…
Once she was Archmage Stewart’s beloved wife Emma, an acomplished which in her own right, now she is but a husk of what she once was, and yet the Archmage loves her too much to put her shell to rest.
Malignant entities, these beings have existed in unlife for so long that they have forgotten what it means to be mortal.
Not all vampires suck blood, there are those who suck feelings as well and you often have no idea of it until the vampire is feeding upon you.
Some places are better left undisturbed…you never know what may be waiting there for you.
Crawling among the garbage and offal, the detritus of what men call civilization, the myrie bugs claim their own small domains. They eat, and breed, and wait…
One day a a wind begins to blow out of the West. The next day it gets stronger. And stronger still the next few days. Eventually (and fortunately), the speed of the wind tops out at a steady fifty miles an hour, but continues to blow. Soon an entire kingdom is wondering why it's not abating. The weather mages deem it unnatural but can't seem to banish or control it. The priests of various faiths claim it's divine. The End-Of-Days crowd is having a field day with their predictions of doom. No one knows why the gale persists. When inquiring with neighboring kingdoms, it seems they too suffer from a persistent western mistral. Eventually the populace begins to adapt to living with a twenty four hour a day wind. Always from the West, and perpetual. What could be causing this? A raging Elemental king? a curse from the gods? an unearthed artifact? Or has Nature itself gone haywire?