The susurrating death-bringer of the Northern Moors.
The Dark Kind came to the world as conquerors. They failed. Now they are odd neighbors.
"Though they walk as men and grow as weeds, they are neither; the angry dead, feeding the green with the rage until they walk again, yellowing bones bound by the twining green."
Pitiable creatures, wandering forever in search of that denied them, unable to rest even as they crumble away to little more than crawling wrecks of bones.
"My god, what is that?"
"Orcweed, sir. Never need a wall with this growing."
Burninating the countryside,
Burninating the peasants
Burninating all the peoples
And their thatched-roof COTTAGES!
The leftover remnants of Mind can sometimes cling to existence when the Body fails and the Spirit departs…
The genesis of Gurgustius and Gorboduc and the curse upon their father Brutus is a terrible legend. Who knows if it is true? But it is the only way to account for the hideous sutured spawn of the King who is hidden.
Slain by thirst and heat, these sad souls seek moisture - any moisture - to quench their eternal, burning thirst.
The Yang to Lutazum’s Ying, the grand totem of the Maletanalu, the 5th tribe of the Hanaset.
The Wordfishes of Hloth, known also as the Sshpah, are strange composite-minds of the Hlothian jungles.
The River Dragons are a beautiful, sleek race. Their irridescent scales are soft and almost invisible under a fast-racing current. As long as a long riverboat, they propel themselves upstream with occasional flaps of their powerful wings.
You could only hear the rest of them. And you could only hear them because they didn’t mind being heard. Running in the trees they were. We followed the little guy named Dorto. He led us to a spot and said in broken Gallen, "Here is village". There was nothing there I tell you. We looked about and could not see a thing. He smiled and pointed up. You could see it then, the huts and nests and ropes. A bunch of them were just hanging there by their feet looking at us. It was going to be an odd night. Exerpt from A Sailor’s Journey, by Ptholus WindRider
You see a glowing figure, four feel tall, it looks like it has been waiting for you. Suddenly, it flies right through you, and it looks like its coming around for another pass…
Concluders haunt the frozen lands of their home in search of knowledge.
"When the dolphins and whales propel themselves into the air, it is a great spectacle and joy to watch. When the Salwar launch themselves, it is a terror."
Known in these times as shalgiel, these beings were guardians created through ancient magic for purposes which are now forgotten.
The delicate flower of the deepest Arctic, bearing the essence of ephemeral purity.
Perhaps the most destructive of Kel’Regar weapons, Summer’s Extinguisher plunges the world it is deployed on into a deep and permanent winter.
Behold, the Harbinger of ill-tidings, the blizzard rider, the thief of winter, the Stamagast.
Held in a lead sheath the blade of this sword is tipped with uranium and any wound from it, even a tiny one, will go cancerous, although the effects may not show up for months or even years.