Even 20 years of service was not enough for them - still they taunt me. Will I ever be free?
An Empire was brought low by the vile astrologer Magnus Magisterius, but that was only the beginning of his evil.
A name lost to all but the oldest of history books and mythic tales, yet more important than many modern rulers.
Many claim him to have been of their own, be they mages or clerics, thieves or warriors. Such was the legacy of Atal, the Wise Councilor.
The power of the runes comes with a price, one the apprentice Tamford wasn’t ready to pay
Dare you approach the great and mighty Modock! KNEEL!
The price was high - and it may be higher. But is all worth it for the magic…
A king so vile and treacherous was cursed many centuries ago to forever roam the earth. He is now a serf of earths will and shall be anywhere needed to stop the destruction of earths its bueatiful landscapes and creatures.
A cold and cadavorous collection of nefarious necromancers.
Daltorz was the greatest weapon of the Summoners and but in the end he caused the downfall of hundreds of magicians and today his very name strikes terror in the hearts of wizards.
Within the lost tomb of Abu Khanut, Agarn the Impulsive brought the forgotten priest’s curse down upon his student, Alain Piercetongue. Now the wrath of an ancient god stalks the desert sands.
The Headsman is drawn to areas where great injustices have occurred. ... He is absolutely cold and emotionless. The only mercy he knows is swift death.
“MINE!!!!” thundered the demon as he caught site of the chests of gold coins. With a gesture of his hand the chests rose, sundering the enchantments which held them down and drew them towards him.
30 slingers of spells, vendors of enchantment, and bizarrement.
"You would be wise not to cross me. I have powers that you cannot even begin to comprehend. Do not anger me, lest I turn you into a goose, fat and ugly. Then if you are lucky and I am in a forgiving mood, I won’t eat you for supper."
Based on Muro’s Archaic Words Challenge, the word myomancer.
Thirty Mages for every kind of magical world out there.
Do as thou Will…
“Do you trust me? Do you feel I can get you through this night?”
They looked unsure. Slowly, each nodded. One even spoke, “I believe you can get me through this night.”
“Good. I believe we can reach the morning light. Now here is what we need to do…...”
Clad in a rainment of silver scale and chain armor, Ixia is the second member of the Trinity
Creator of the Black Book, the primogen tome of necromancy, few names are as feared or reviled as that of Mastere.
Molk Peruda is encountered by the PCs on the second day of their journey west from the salt-choked port of Quyn, as they prepare to explore the jungle.
He appears a gaunt, wolfish man, with matted, dark hair that sprouts from his head in dreadlocks, contrasting with his well-oiled, blue-black, conical beard. His eyes are hidden ebon shards beneath thick arching brows, his nose, crooked, long, and reminiscent of a snout. His mouth is a thin, dark line, his teeth unseen even when he parts his lips to speak.
His skin is the color of tallow, surprising perhaps for a renowned jungle guide, yet his natural helm of dreads and the jungle's canopy keeps the sun from bronzing his originally pale flesh. On his back are tattooed three women from the waist up, side-by-side, each resembling the other but of different ages. This is a tattoo of Molk's mother, sister, and daughter. His wife (don't bring her up to him!) was killed by marauding Qullan years ago, and appears as her own tattoo on his broad but sunken chest.
His feet shockingly are turned around 180 degrees at the ankle, facing towards his back! A curse from a pernicious shaman. Molk walks feet backwards (he's used to it) and walks backwards, forwards. This can be very disconcerting and outright creepy to the PCs as he guides them through the rainforest.
Slung from his back is an archer's quarrel of treated wood carved to resemble a stalking leopard, in his hand a re-curved composite bow of horn and sinew, with a pair of vivid, red eyes, each one painted on the opposite side of the hand-grip. In a leather sheath at his belt, hangs a falchion, its pommel adorned with a curved bird's head and beak.