Gareth turned and squinted uneasily over his shoulder. He could have sworn he heard a high pitched hiss. He turned back to continue through the dim underground passageway. It was then that he saw them. A pair of ruby red eyes, glowing faintly a few feet front of him. He had to look up to see them, and that is saying something, given Gareth’s generous stature. The strike was quick…he had no chance. The last thing he remembered were the eyes hovering above him and the fangs dripping venom. And was that a second set of eyes gleaming beneath the first…?
With her gray hair in a grandmotherly bun, and wont to wear grey dresses with lace and floral brocade, few would suspect the kindly Mistress of the bakery and part time apothecary of being a child of dark magic…
Blackrose Academy was built as a center for anyone wanting to learn. It houses some of the most intelligent and brilliant minds of its time. People would come from all around to study magic, languages, warfare and tactics, among other things. But that has changed.
There are sewers beneath the cobbled stone streets, carrying the filth of society away, rather than letting it pile up into steaming heaps of refuse. Something has moved into the sewers and is now coming to the surface to feed.
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.
The street is wide, and smoothly paved, with trees planted along the sides. The houses are mansions and palaces, each surrounded by stone and ironwork walls that are as much decorative as they are protective. These are the summer homes of the Princesses, and ladies of privelage.
Flame burns hot, bringing warmth, life, and hope. Anti-Fire burns too, but it devours heat, and saps the will of life. Before the world could be inhabited, all of the coldfire, and anti-fire had to be collected an hidden away safely. The gods did this, placing it in an urn of brass and hiding it away from the world.
Forced to flee by foes that cannot be defeated,this man will return one day to take back what is his.
He slides down the tower and onto the streets from the princess’s balcony and makes his escape! Oh, but if only he would learn from his philanderous ways! “But I won’t learn,” he thought slighly.
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 evil mage Zarakoth is dead, but with his death the world has gone mad. The aging characters are confronted on all sides by rot, death and decay whilst around them the world regresses rapidly to the stone age. Furthermore, Zarakoth seems to have miraculously not died - and to be more powerful than ever.
A blade of unmatched power. It is desired by many a warrior, and yet, everyone it comes in contact with is destroyed by it.
Shes a vampire out for vengance, she’s smart,strong, witty and quite the seductress.
Far to the west of the mountian town of Walkabout Creek lies the Bushlands, a place of rich game, and beyond, the Dragon’s Hills where all manner of rich treasures are said to lie unlooted…
A jolly night with friends turns out to have long-lasting consequences. Can a hardened adventurer handle infinite responsibilities of a single dad - especially when there’s an evil mage out there looking for the adventurer’s child?
A christmas gift to my fellow citadelians, made in my favourite medium. Of course, you all know what my gifts are like. But hey, Christmas is a time of giving!
The Sea is My Home, and Like All Homes I Will Defend it to My Dying Breath -Benedicte De La Courcel
Even though the Gods struggle so, their achievements are temporary at best.
For all beings must dream, and within those dreams dwell the Dreamer.
Come then and succumb to the lord, come then and enter the realm of sleep.
Come then taste the nectar, made of the tears of the dreamer.
-The 5th verse in the Book of the Dreaming Cult
Harbouring the accumalated memories of generations of the Uluun,it offers either great wisdom or raving insanity.
One of the toys of the ruler of the lost realm, the music box of Mordalin gives great powers at an even greater cost.
In the Middle Ages, and even up to the early twentieth century, most of Europe's executioners were related: the Sansons and Deiblers in France, the Pierrepoints in England, etc. The reason for this was that, it generally not being socially acceptable to, well, kill people, executioners and their children could, generally, only marry other executioners or their children.
The parallels with massively inbred, Hapsburg-style dynasties are obvious- imagine a rather clever but politically inept satirist noting this, and being sentenced by the latter to a meeting with the former; even worse, imagine a dynasty of deranged and deformed executioners- think Texas Chaisaw Massacre with government funding.