...And then the evil necromancer killed everyone and made them into zombies to do really evil things. I mean really evil, kicking puppies, eating kittens and making lewd sexual gestures at unsuspecting shoppers at Wal-Mart. Yeah and he had a severed head for a hat and was eating a sandwich made out of real lady-fingers…
A healer of great power and kindness, she is rumored to even be able to heal the dead, if you can find her.
In my setting that is posted here called “The Kingdom of Orentia” the appointed ruler of the town of Thorpe is Griffin Orent. Griffin is actually the leader of a rather large group of bandits operating all over the kingdom. However, these are not your normal bandits…
All the good ones break off from the the guild.
Most established villages have their neighborhood hermit and Enders is no exception. If only the folks of Enders knew who they harbored, it may have been a very different story for old Noam.
Dalme is one of the various travelling Tinkers plying their trade in the villages along the back roads. One can hear his cart from a arrow shot away, clanking and clinking, his wares: pans, pots, utensils, plow shares, cow bells, and other metal bits, banging against the side of his cart. The rest of his goods are kept inside his house cart (mugs, plates, fabric, ribbon, and other things) along with his anvil and fire bellows. He tells news, shares jokes, and does a bit of trading. He is everything a tinker is expected to be…. and unfortunately much more.
Human in a previous existence,one thing about this former Captain’s life has been left unchanged by its brush with the Black Tide.
A burned and withered female elven ranger, with a hatred of giants, a love for animals, and a desire to seek out and thank the man who saved her life and disappeared just as quickly.
Larkin thought that she was just like the other girls in her village. Her mother was a local crofter, but her father was an incredibly wealthy man who was seldom around but cared very deeply for her mother. Now her mother has passed away, her father hasnt come back, and things are starting to happen to her, things that are neither natural or explainable…
Tainted. Witch. Hellspawn. Freak. Monster. How often does one have to hear this until ... she makes the decision to stand up, stand up for them all?
Darken Flind is capable of harnessing the raw power generate from sacrifice and forge the struggling soul-essence into magical runes and charms. Bloodforging, as the practice is known, tends to be less subtle and benevolent than other forms of magic. However, a bloodbound object can be incredibly potent and deadly in the wrong hands.
Destined am I to hunt down and slay the half breed called Rachat, for only his demise can bring me what I yearn for…
My dark past will never let me rest, the only solace I find is bathed in the light of the moon. Tell me, have you ever danced with a devil in the pale moonlight?
A young warrior turned warlord with a heart to satify his people’s needs. Yet every golden hero has an obsidian heart waiting to be released.
Lord of the powerful Red Blade gang that has the bustling port city of Frohlk in its grip, this intelligent blob has come a very long way for something that was once a lowly pet. A pity then that he’ll never be invited over to any of the grand functions thrown by high society.
Created in a time of need, he was cast from the pride he was made to obtain, he is a warrior, and a leader.
Over the primitive tribe of the Powi,Lucah the Handsome rules, his beauty and generosity dazzling the tribals that venerate him as a living god. But there are those dark ones who see his worship as blasphemy to the true demon lords…
Tormented by human children as a lad, Wistan lost his eyes in a cruel prank gone wrong. He now makes magical toys to kill and torment human children.
the Khalif’s favorite assasin…a master killer who follows only one self-imposed rule…he refuses to kill…
Born of honor. Raised with trust. Died with murder. Reborn with vengence. Mourning a great loss, and grim in his determination to see that loss is repaired. Mourngrymn walks a lonely road of vengence.
Cold Comfort is a long-sword of star-steel, its blade giving off a wan, blueish light. Its grip is wrapped tightly in snow-serpent hide, and its pommel bears a single opalescent gemstone.
This blade is enchanted in such a way, that whoever wields it, begins to fall completely and irrevocably "in love" with the weapon. This love does not manifest itself as the expected reverence and bond formed between any warrior and his weapon, but as a deeper, truer love, one has for a soul-mate of the same species! The longer the wielder carries Cold Comfort the stronger and more disturbing this love becomes, and only the most powerful of magicks can potentially break the sword's insidious spell. The blade's owner will even speak to and coo to the weapon, convinced that the sword understands and returns this epic love.
If the blade's wielder somehow loses the weapon or has it taken away, they will become inconsolable, and will predictably go to "ends of the earth and back" to retrieve it at any cost. Such is the weapon's curse that even separation from it does not damper the feelings the owner has for the sword. Legends tell of several distraught and mind-addled knights who even years after losing the blade, still wander the country-side searching for their lost love. And woe be to the "new lover" if and when they find him or her.