“Beep Click, Identify yourself or be removed.”
Not strong of body, and questionable of mind, she has a kind heart and one special talent. She is not a healer of wounds, or even of people, she heals the souls of creatures. She feels sympathy for even the most hideous and terrible of creatures, and when her tears for them fall upon them, their hearts are moved and their evil ways ended(for a little while at least).
“That was the second lynching this month. And last week they haven beaten some old sod that could barely crawl home.”
“Well, he was a drinker and bad to his wife, sir. It is really hard work they do, and not for much pay. But sir, we are doing wonderfully, all is going as planned and better!”
“Yes, the cathedral could be built months before expected, if we can keep up this speed. You are all doing great work, I’ll be sure to inform the Patriarch. Just take care no accidents happen anymore.”
This bundle of beautiful sparkling delight conceals a far darker side…
A socially inept and ugly human monk, with a smattering of arcane skills, on a quest of vengeance to find his mentor’s killers.
When did it all start? He would never know for sure, although he traces it, like a finger on a map following the broad river back to the invisible thread of the beginnings, to one evening early winter.
(Name translates directly from ancient Egyptian as: Strong Protector, the Hidden One.) A mysterious shaman appearing without regard to wheres and whens, upon the divine bidding of other Realms. An entity of legend, belonging to a legendary and ancient sect.
Clef was a regular gnome, just like all of the other gnomes. It just happened that his area of interest was not so agreeable to the other gnomes…
Martin Eltsin hated alcohol, and felt he had a very good reason to do so.He had seen it cause a lot of harm on the Pier Point streets…
It was rumoured that John Chard had made a deal with a demon, but perhaps it was mere idle rumour and speculation.Or maybe not…
Most see the hunch-backed girl with the black hair, and give her a few copper pieces out of pity or mercy. These she spares from her nightly rooftop hauntings, as her hunch holds a darker secret than a deformed spine.
All know that Elves cannot die, and that Men do. All know that Men go unto the Underworld upon their death, and that the Elves retire unto the Spiritual Elysium. Yet in the Great Scheme, where goes the one with one foot in the Underworld, and one foot in the Realm of Spirit?
An unusual woman, with twelve debts she can never repay.
He is a very powerful mage for his age at 26. He has led a very normal life, well at least as normal as you can get with a mage.
Honor, ethics, morality, civilization, these are mere trappings. Playthings that people use to hide from the world. They’ve all forgotten. No sword is untried by fire, and so it is with man.
I am the fire that will test man.
Once trod upon, now brightly shines, a mage fed by what to death declines…
izkandar is an Ifrit, a fire elemtal of mideastern lore. he would be at home in a desert or asian steppe setting.
Throughly despising the intrigue and scandals of the royal court,Prince Michael has never mourned the loss of his crown and inheritance to a treacherous advisor of his father’s. No,inflicting vengeance on the usurper and reclaiming his throne is too petty for him. He has a more important quest to fulfill..
“The abominations that walk this earth when they should lie quiet in their graves must be destroyed, and I am he who shall do this! So it sayeth in the Book of Fury!”
How much life can the stroke of a brush place to a canvas? Perhaps art does imitate life, the Artist knows. The Artist is usually looking for new models.
The air had grown chill the minute they descended into the strange valley, which was unmarked on any of their maps. It was so strange here, devoid of animal life and completely silent. The horses were nervous the entire journey through the vale. As they set about to collect firewood for the campfire they could hear their own voices as dim echoes through the eerie silence.
The food didn't taste anything that evening and their sleep was cold and troubled by nightmares. While they are clearing camp the next morning, one of them stumbles over a piece of stone jutting out of the ground nearby the horses. On closer inspection there seems to be runes engraved into the polished surface. The symbols true meaning is no more known among mere mortals and if they decide to dig deeper, they will discover that it is an ancient altar buried within the soil.
Any historically oriented party member will recognize the largest symbol to be the insignia of the powerful warlock who ruled this realm several centuries ago. At their departure from the area, something will seem amiss with one of the party members and all will remember the stories of the warlock's thousand curses.