12 years ago: When Lord Caasi turns his restless mind to the ancient art of alchemy, he unleashes Philosopher’s Mercury, a primal source of matter and a key to manipulating the four elements of Danmatum, Lux, Phlegm and Gas
Madness is in everyone but is only shone through the ones who expose it and hidden by those who fear it- Demitri
Among the more annoying items that has been discovered among the ancient ruins. The “Chainmail of Forgetfulness” has plagued the minds of heros galore for many years past.
All of his life Fflam lived in the shadows of greater and more terrible demons than himself. One day he would show them all…
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.
A Wizard’s most prized possesion is his Spellbook and with this item it will be safe from the eyes of others.
A great demon of death and destruction.
Watch your step with this item, you might end up falling down… or even up.
And so Blinkly opened his newly crisped mouth and replied.
“I think toast would be an appropriate description.”
In Aelfa’s arms, have I left my anvil…
These were the last words of Davyd, the last master alchemist of the Old World, upon his deathbed. For nine centuries many have sought out Aelfa to find the anvil so that they might create weapons of power equivalent to those crafted during the height of the Old World.
Blurring the line between black and white, Selyn DeJaod is one of the last surviving Blaze Knights of old.
A man of the city in the wild, a man of coin stands at nature’s side? Can this go well, can it bear fruit? Will he be worthy, will duty take root?
Spires of crystals reach in the barren sky, glittering like the teeth of some long since slain carnivore god…
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?
Have you or anyone you know ever been accused of a crime you didn’t commit? Been sent to the Hangman knowing you were innocent? Have you ever welcomed the noose to prove it?
Anything is possible with the capricous power of this Glyph.
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.
A hunting party realizes a druid has been foiling it’s hunting efforts and shifts it’s focus from hunting wild game to hunting the druid.
The wristbands look ordinary. Sure, they may be a couple centuries old, but they weren’t iron. They were another, magical metal, and they were strong enough to stop even the biggest sword, if you’re fast enough. But they also draw the attention of another, who will hound you to your grave.
Sinister, enganging plot involves a powerful tool fallen into the wrong hands. Only the players can set things right. They have a piece of the tool, but first they have to figure out how the tool works, why two opposing forces are persuing them, whom to trust, and what to do next. Murder, accusation, betrayal, diplomacy, combat, and constant mystique force the players to make incredibly difficult decisions.
AutoMedon – A mechanical poet of renown not for his vast catalog of poetry, but for his complete lack of anything written or spoken, having had no output in his programmed profession. His creator is unknown or at least unaccredited, and there are those in great number in the artistic world who wonder and marvel at his inability to produce poetry, crediting that flaw to his creator who is unknown or at least un-credited. There is also a small faction of scholars who believe that when he finally, finally speaks, it will be the most beautiful or sorrowful verse ever spoke or will ever be spoken. Whether his creator is among either group or dead is unknown. AutoMedon sits alone under a tin roofed enclosure, upon a stone chair, with his gaze off in the distant as if thinking.
“It’s strange to look at this mechanical man and think what thoughts are working through its’ workings or even if the damn thing is” – Aralis of Qurim, poet and pottery salesman