Blessed be are those wed beneath apple tree
Common Falk Saying, the Midlands
Mercenaries and bounty hunters? We don’t need the help of scum like that.
Every soldier knows he may be called upon to make the ultimate sacrifice. What he doesn’t always know is the depth of the other sacrifices he may be called upon to make.
30 mystical imps to perch upon your wizard’s shoulder and whisper the secrets of magic and the universe.
The Black Bard of Nihilism
Alowin Brackwater is a beautiful young man, with mesmerizing eyes and a sly, mischievious expression. He just happens to be painted on a large canvas, rather than being alive. Surely, this cannot be held against him.
I would have never had thought one could come to like a rattling pile of walking bones, but Tohm simply grew on me. Watching him play checkers with Formuro was always amusing - whenever he took one of Formuro’s pieces he would rattle his jaw in joy.. From the diary of Professor Ethric, faculty of Divination.
His eyesight isn’t what it was, but he’s still got a brilliant way with calfskin.
Age is a terrible weight
“Come and see Veidt, the ever-sleeping. Born with an incurable condition, he has not woken once in twenty-six years. Come and see the man who will never wake. Come and see Feher’s sleepwalker.”
"Some people call me a monster, and while that’s true enough, they don’t give me enough credit. I am an artist, sir, in a criminally neglected art."
The two foreigners claimed to represent their queen, but… Where did they say they were from?
A man of extremes
Extras and alternate “headliners” for The Carnival of Forgotten Souls and other traveling shows
Every winter, a humble tinker man wanders through the villages, giving toys to the children…
Endowed with a generous love for the untainted bounty of the natural environment, this enigmatic individual has all but forgotten what it means to be human..
Splendid Reverse Worker seems to be manifested ill luck. In its presence everything seems to go wrong- mirrors and glasses shatter, animals fall ill and are injured, tempers flare and depression looms, metal rusts, and a general environment of pure Murphy’s Law occurs.
Once a decorated Theosian Soldier, now a wanted deserter.
The jaguar stood at the door of the temple. The smell of blood from within assailed his keen senses. He placed one paw, and then another, over the threshold. The priest walked to the door, as the sun’s light faded, and greeted the warrior Tepiltzin.
The party had driven the beasts to the edge of the cliffs, the kill was swift. Tlilpotonqui smiled broad and warm. It had been a fine day. His smile faded as he spied the crescent Moon already hanging delicately in the sky. The west was fading to pinks and golds. In his excitement, he had forgotten the time. He fell back, letting the party get well ahead, and turned towards the cliffs. As the last rays of the Sun faded he dove towards the rocky waters below…
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.