Created in a time of need, he was cast from the pride he was made to obtain, he is a warrior, and a leader.
An ancient ruin, a pair of boastful teenagers, and a bunch of indifferent gargoyles - but who let the demonic spirit out
Over the primitive tribe of the Powi,Lucah the Handsome rules, his beauty and generosity dazzling the tribals that venerate him as a living god. But there are those dark ones who see his worship as blasphemy to the true demon lords…
Clef was a regular gnome, just like all of the other gnomes. It just happened that his area of interest was not so agreeable to the other gnomes…
An quirky Gnome with little patience and much skill with a flame.
Martin Eltsin hated alcohol, and felt he had a very good reason to do so.He had seen it cause a lot of harm on the Pier Point streets…
Salvation to oneself is bought through the salvation of others…
Can a demon ever learn what it means to feel pity, grief, fear, despair, joy and the rest of those tangled emotions and feelings that plague humans? Can beings who obtain their deepest satisfaction from the suffering they inflict on others,ever embrace those very things they so passionately despise and hate about the mortal races? Mozrak,wisest of the half-demons and beloved of the Mother Godess, believed it not impossible. The Staff is both his curse and gift to his pureblood cousins.
Thin, tough, gummy almost to a point of rubber, and pitch black in color, it was only by sheer accident that anyone outside the drow race ever learned it was food.
The Road… traverses Time—Time past, Time to come, Time that could have been, and Time that might yet be. Some people have the ability to access the Road and travel it from Time to Time and world to world.
An innocent square of delicate material - barely larger than a handkerchief in size. However, those who’s skin come into contact with this cloth, may find themselves wishing they never handled it.
The PC’s find themselves thrust into a whole new world during what they had thought would be a boring trek through the plains…
Treachery, murder, magic and an army of the dead, all in one rather confusing escapade.
The nutritious fruit of this plant is not unlike a star fruit, with fleshy spindles sticking out in all directions. The leaves, on the other hand, are highly dangerous and have driven many a hungry traveller mad!
Bumbling young wizard, who could link the PC’s to an ancient and reknowned guild…
A once noble man, he was tossed aside and tortured. He is an empty shell of what use to be Human.
These items, potent wards against spirits, were once commonplace. Following the end of the old Empire the methods of their manufacture was lost and none new have been made in the intervening centuries.
A result of the experiments of the world’s first bioengineer, as manifested by a needle and thread and a whole lot of blotting paper.
A wonderer, a warrior. He is both cursed and blessed, he is feared and loved, but always misundestood.
A strong fighter, but an exellent assassin. He is the son of the Bandit Lord, and is the rightful heir to his title.
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.