A voice as supple as silk, a face hidden in the shadows of a hood, yet the words she speaks are colder than the grave and burn more furiously than any inferno.
Thoral’s grim brigade is a mercenary unit under curse. They are led by Thoral, a half-undead half-realdead reanimated barbarian who negotiates the brigades affairs in a terse and direct whisper.
I don’t know what it was that set Shoutin’ Sam off, but when he left, it was like goddamned Apaches had busted in here and had a scalpin’ party in the saloon…
Failure. For most, it is an occasional streak of bad luck to be suffered. For others… well, it’s a living.
The saloon was smokey on the hot prairie night. She looked over her fan at her fellow players. The fan hid her smile, but not the smile in her eyes. “Well Gentlemen, I think I won’t call you on that.” Her dollars hit the table. “I think I’ll raise.”
Once noble and proud, the Cyclopes of the desert are now all but dust on the wind…
The Latrani are elusive as desert ghosts, dangerous as sand scorpions, and as rare as oases in the wastes.
Brutal are the Seitch raids that come up out of the vast waste of the Calcobrinan desert. They come clad in dusky browns, bearing black iron weapons, raiding for food, water, gold, and women.
He is fat, kind, witty and against violence. The last person you would expect to be a vampire
The new royal nurse. She is young, innocent and ever so boring. She is also knowledgable about the secrets of the state, having overheard many a conversation between the King, the Queen and their advisors.
Thenadore is a small boy who always laugh and who is considered a child prodigy. However there is a secret concerning him. A secret few knows about.
An old, kind apothecary. She is sweet as honey and genuine too.
Matronly owner of the local tavern.
The Magistrate has something of a reputation for Solomonic wisdom and the determining of past events. While the magistrate is not a stupid man by any stretch of the imagination, his reputation stems from his assistant rather than his innate abilities. Grisus is that assistant.
I believe I need to contemplate this further. However, I know that I can reach a proper solution that will resolve the issue. It will take a little time. Not too much mind you. But every piece must be contemplated in turn. Now if you would excuse me. Oh and if you could allow my Man to look around, I would greatly appreciate it.
Honor beyond death, duty beyond the grave. An eternity of damnation for an eternity of servitude.
He’s a strange foreigner who doesn’t act like us… Suspicious.
Many who see him think he is a powerful, scary, and undead. Two out of three are correct.
Jefficus? Oh yes, Jessius’s friend.
Oh her? She is that girl. She is Jessius’s girl.
An insignficant little species, the candlebug (or waxmoth) is a persistent bane for mages and merchants alike. Each the size of a small digit, these little scarabs thrive on wax and burrow up inside candles, ruining them. Sometimes a late-night worker will hear a crack and a sizzle as his candle expires, only to find the half-burned remains of a waxmoth squirming around on his desk. This is very annoying in worlds where candles are expensive...