Veng the Manipulator is one of the most hideous enemies to mankind the world has ever known. His unique combination of Psionic abilities and magic items allow him to sneak into his victims dreams, and modify and direct the dreams, as well as “adjust memories”. Over the years, he has ‘programmed’ an insidious network of totally devoted followers. Using his natural ability of ‘Wisdom Drain’, he has created an army of willing slaves.
The Sea is My Home, and Like All Homes I Will Defend it to My Dying Breath -Benedicte De La Courcel
Man, too, is a primal creature, though he binds himself with the chains named Reason and Law, locked link by link from birth. Yet, those locks can be opened, the links broken, in both the savage world of the street-slum, and in the gilded cages of nobility.
One such creature is the countess-to-be, Alia duBois, who crouches within her golden jail, a puma waiting paitently to maul her captors…
Has your kid been acting strangely? Returning home late at night, bearing bruises and clothes torn? Something else than puberty may be the reason.
I would rather deserve honor and not get it; then get honor and not deserve it- Jermayan
Isssss It Wrong To Dissscriminate Usssss?- Eragor Erunk
You do what you ask your men to do- Teachings of Lord Ressalekh Faalithet
A brilliant and driven man, he has emerged as a major merchant from the sands of Aviansis (the hard lands of the Aviontix). He has other goals beyond mere successful merchantry. He does not want to take over the country, he wants the world… for the good of everyone.
He is the one that whispers dreams of power and conquest in the ears of those in positions of power (or positions to take said power). He not only motivates them, he gives them ideas and plans (which they think are their own) to conquer the city/ country/ world. He manipulates the weaker minds around him, so they will follow his designated puppet. Using their own greed and lusts, his puppets will destroy the world as it is now… turning it into one where Gathrack and his kin would thrive.
And who would suspect a pet cat as the instigator of a world in chaos.
Lorning is a dashing and suave minor functionary. He has no title or lands. He works with the Seneschal, procuring ducks and minor supplies. He occasionally travels to other lands just to get spices and such. In fact, he often travels with nobles visiting other courts to assist some more major domo in making appropriate arrangements. He likes travelling because he can be more extravagent on the coin of the Kingdom. Except for that he is very charismatic, he would be a total background character.
He is also the Dark Hand of the King. As an agent of great skill and cunning, he inflicts policy (death) on those the King deems, steals what the King needs, and has literally saved the world four times.
He is a beast and a paladin; a monster and a hero. He is a companion to heroes; a walker of the roads. He is not what you expect when you think of as a Hero or Heroic Companion, but he has saved a number of worlds.
He is also one of the largest dogs you will ever meet.
Some elves lose patience teaching the ‘young’ races, and set out to employ harsher methods. A few doubt the very intent of mother nature, and set out to bring their own vision to life.
Just an ordinary woman in a small village, suddenly taken away from her home to a long, long journey… Sounds like something that everyone hopes for himself, something else, something… well, adventurous, doesn’t everyone want something like that?
Do not become the beast you hunt…
He may be a small green goblin but donÃ¢t tell him that or he might show you otherwise.
To many, the clerics of the Gods of Death are reviled as evil monsters, conspirators of demons, and raisers of undead armies. How often is the common perception wrong?
Khass was one of the greatest friends I ever had. So of course, what choice did I have but to save him?
Dear gods above, what have I done?
A lot of travelling singers have a flame or incessant longing in their heart.This woman’s heart holds something more as well.
Always on the cutting edge of fashion and the talk of the courts, Mialee the Beautiful is the supermodel of the fantastic world…
Dracia Eldren was a sharp featured woman. Her long greying hair was pulled back into a severe coif. Narrowed black eyes studied the potential Princess stand-ins. Darcia was well schooled in the ways of ettiquette. She was a seasoned Mistress. Her name was well known about the different Kingdoms and Queendoms.
She was the woman you contacted when you wanted your daughter to become the well cultured and well taught pillar of nobility. She was the woman who schooled young princesses on the fine art of being noble. Dracia was as strict as they come. Years of practice allowed her to use a switch upon her subject without leaving any marks. Only a sharp stinging pain as a reminder of their failures. She lives for her work.
If you wanted to infiltrate a kingdom with a doppleganger…you needed the help of a professional. One who knew all the ends and outs of Princess behavior.
Her dark grey coat hardly never touched the ground as she walked. Her back arched and her head held up proudly. Darcia fingered the switch at her side as she studied these potentials. These potentials were of poor condition. Some of them were farmer’s daughters. Pathetic. She had her work cut out for her. At all times there would need to be at least three princess replacements in training. They would have to learn together. Eat together and train together. Every movement would have to be perfect. And she only tolerated perfection.
Idea from the Aeneid. Could make an intriguing encounter when searching for firewood..."Quite near there happened to be a mound of earth, at the highest part of which were growing thickets of cornel and a dense cluster of spiky myrtle-stems. I went up there and tried to wrench the green growth from the ground to provide a leafy covering for our altar. There I was confronted by a horrible and astounding miracle. For from the first bush which I tried to break off...blood oozed in dark drops, fouling the earth with its spots...A piteous moan came from the base of the mound and I heard a human voice answering me: 'Why, Aeneas, must you rend a poor sufferer? I am buried here...for I am Polydorus. Here death overpowered me in a crop of piercing iron-pointed spears. And so a crop resembling javelins has grown over me...'"