German zeppelin corps commander Peter Strasser explaining that those who provide the materials of war are just as dangerous as those that fight the wars.
A family of semi-retired doomsday cultists, just trying to live a quiet life while tending an apple orchard in the country. Except with complications.
Driven by the need to keep his descendants fed, Daniel Andersson is one of the more peculiar undead - and gods - one might ever come across.
Thirty farmers, from the happy to the grumpy, the serf to the squire.
Look at that, pale as death and she’s got her neck covered, betcha fifty she’s a fang-banger
‘Don’t you go foolin around in the fens buy. Moeder Moeras don’t care none if you mean no offence or just want to fill your wicker creel with fish. She’ll have your guts for fishnets and your bones for soup.’
Paulis the Riverguide
White Rock is a fishing village just off the main coastal road, not too far from a town and a bit farther from a city. Named for the white boulders that are found around these parts, the village is built on a protected cove that has a small set of streams outletting into it. The weather is a bit cold in the winter, but the summers can be quite pleasant. The fishing is fairly good in these waters. It is on its way to becoming a tiny town.
Come hither peasant!
A farmer, handy with a bow, and if you’re a bird I would advise staying far from his fields
It is a small, peaceful village like so many others. Do you wonder who lives inside?
James Barley is a hard drinking, minimum-effort working hired hand…
The Latrani are elusive as desert ghosts, dangerous as sand scorpions, and as rare as oases in the wastes.
An old, kind apothecary. She is sweet as honey and genuine too.
One day a a wind begins to blow out of the West. The next day it gets stronger. And stronger still the next few days. Eventually (and fortunately), the speed of the wind tops out at a steady fifty miles an hour, but continues to blow. Soon an entire kingdom is wondering why it's not abating. The weather mages deem it unnatural but can't seem to banish or control it. The priests of various faiths claim it's divine. The End-Of-Days crowd is having a field day with their predictions of doom. No one knows why the gale persists. When inquiring with neighboring kingdoms, it seems they too suffer from a persistent western mistral. Eventually the populace begins to adapt to living with a twenty four hour a day wind. Always from the West, and perpetual. What could be causing this? A raging Elemental king? a curse from the gods? an unearthed artifact? Or has Nature itself gone haywire?