The tale of King Shorthold and The Window of the Mind
This discreet and stylishly concealable weapon is quite capable of cleaning up its own mess.
A weary adventurer-turned-lord. His fief is slowly growing, but threatened by growing forces of humanoids… and approaching winter.
A land being plunged into chaotic energies, wild superstition, massive prejudices and distrust. More of a campaign setting than anything else.
This is more of a concept applied to a particular setting than the setting itself, bear this in mind.
A dagger, seemingly crafted from plain oak wood…
Betrothed to Skundaath Lord of Chaos, Celdea lives in perpetual fear of being found and taken to be his bride.
The tale of colourshade of the two-fold, and his reknowned skill of painting.
Cheating death always has a price. For those who don the Shroud of Ster, the price is pain and suffering for ages.
Pembridge Maccadia, the Mindless Ruler, the Crafter of Graf Malin, sacrificed his very life to destroy a nation. A breathing, living machine with the heart of blades, a testament to his loathing of Man. His hatred for his own people…
Some things remember well. The stones of the Chambers of Nul soaked up the terror of the encarcerated victims and even now remember it, slowly releasing it like sweat. The buried city of Mastad remembers the cries of its citizens as they were crushed, and still they can be heard on the wind.
So it is with the Bed. Over the centuries it has sat in this room it has been host to some interesting guests, and each has left an…impression. Every sleepless night, every troubled thought: the Bed remembers it all. And if you were to spend a night in its downy pillows, you might remember some of it too…
“Yes, these boots are very fine,” said Smoke’s Empty Lens, “But I do not care for them, nor for you.”
Firefly River wept a single tear and went away…
A legendary relic, suited to base a campaign around, with the power of Creation crystallized in a single milky seed…
High in the Gralbak mountains live the Yale Riders, a reclusive tribe of gnomes who have succeeded in taming the wild yales of the mountains. Skilled riders of their agile beasts they are excellent hunters and warriors, though they do have a firm tradition of hospitality.
A true weapon of Light, crafted by the master craftsman Elriada for the coming of age of Anlara, heir of the forest elves. When rejected by Anlara, Elriada laid his curse upon the Longbow, ensuring that this mighty weapon would be truly valued by its users.
Every now and then someone truly extraordinary is born, even to a race of kobold like creatures.
A mid-sized sailing ship with an embedded Shard of the Storm.
Fallu the Sorceress summoned Smile Frown, the Laughing Demon, who chuckled and said to her…
He is 972 years old and has a wife. He congregates with any good creature and will help any one in need. He is a good black smith and can work with most meterials.
A flamboyant sea captain with a small crew and vessel. He searches the seas for any and all cultural legends, simply out of curiousity.
Fiery-Feathered Phembu, the First Among Pheasants, went to Moeqhu-Qaz, the Leader of the Seven Sand Dragons!
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