The Khor are a monsterous and violent race that can grow to great size.
These are Elves of a different sort. Not quite a new take. The HighFather is the father of all his race. He is immortal, powerful, and a strong physical presence. His memory is quite powerful- it is the races way of immortality - to be remembered by the HighFather.
The Frozan are revered as creatures so old and ancient that only the very ice caps and glaciers are older than they are.
The call to Him is unnerving. The power He gives is unmatched. He is the reason why I turned my back on my God and now worship Him. I will live eternal for the trade of my Soul to a God. I can live with that.
-Rakeos -Follower of Sethalis, fallen Priest of Aduivo
This is a compilation of all the creatures I have in the world of Hewdamia.
It is interesting to realize that in the scheme of the world we are but one oddity. But we are an oddity that the humans and other smaller pitiful races take for the corrupted races of Sethalis. That we are not. I would say they hate us for our superior mentality and superior quality weaponry. As is with all children who can’t have what is out of their reach.
-Synn the Undying - Troll Cheiftan and Mastersmith
Archaeologists have long wondered about the origins of “cup and ring-marked stones”, the mysterious rocks found on deserted tracts of moorland bearing markings resembling small shallow pits with concentric rings and dating to the Bronze-age.
The worlds are nothing more than bubbles on the strings on the plane of dreams.
Bulral have the frame of a wooly mammoth, but are entirely covered with white fur like a polar bear. Instead of a single trunk with long tusks, Bulral have no tusks and four trunks surrounding their mouth, and each trunk is barbed with small thorns. They are fierce and solitary hunters who have a bizarre friendship with the hotheads.
Hotheads are small badger-like animals that inhabit the frozen lands of the north. They are cute, furry, playful ... oh yes, and quite dangerous if you’re not careful.
All know that Elves cannot die, and that Men do. All know that Men go unto the Underworld upon their death, and that the Elves retire unto the Spiritual Elysium. Yet in the Great Scheme, where goes the one with one foot in the Underworld, and one foot in the Realm of Spirit?
When one cannot die, obsession with death is such a natural thing.
I was spending some time reading some Rune Quest, Changeling, and Castle Falkenstein material and remembered why I hated most of the Trolls found in the majority of “Psuedo Medival, Eurpoeanesk Fantasies”. So once again, I charged up my rant muscles and….
Magic is a living entity, simple and non-sentient, but reactive to large-scale emotional states. Its name, like we might call a dog, “Dog”, is Garan. It is better to think of it as a huge astreal vine like plant, rather than an animal.
Quote from: “Sir Isaac Newton” Every action has an equal and opposite reaction
Everyone wants to make a magic system for their game, be it THEIR GAME SYSTEM or another. So have fun and do it. Just a few things I want you to think of.
One of the common variations on magic is the concept of ‘sword mages’ or ‘knight mages’. We all know and love them as the folks in full plate that split globes in twain with flaming swords, before twirling around to change their flame sword to an ice sword so they can stab the flaming angel of vengeance in the chest to maximum effect.
The young priest had been healing in the market place for free. Someone seeking bounty gold had told someone at the temple. "Hut. Hut. Hut" The Temple Knights in formation came marching down from the temple.
The young priest stood up. He reached into his pouch. With a smile he put the top into the Bey. With a spin, the 1000 prayers to the spirits came forth. The spirit responded. The wind whirled and buffetted the troops. They fell into each other and were having trouble getting due to the wind that only they felt.
The priest picked up his top and ran away. They would not catch him today.
Peldor scrambled for his staff. It has all his tactical spells anchored. He dived to the floor, trying to dodge the incoming dart spells. All he had was his ring (for energy enhancements) and his belt buckle (which carried his personal enhancements spells). Papers, smoke, and wood splinters flew everywhere. In the chaos, he saw it - his lab desk’s sextant. He stretched, just touching with the tips of his fingers. He rolled forward. A dart struck infront of him. Spitting dust out of his mouth and squinting against the flying debree, he made solid contact. He whispered the trigger, utilizing his ring to make it cost less mana. The green mystic glow unfolded. It formed a full serephamic sheild. The hex bolts and darts were bouncing off it. Slowly he rose. He was able to take the three steps to reach his battle staff. Now, things would be different.
Each year, One member of the two sides of the tribe is chosen to Acend. It is a deep ritual used to maintain the contact the tribe has with its two gods. Sometimes, you gotta go out with a bang.
There are two types of P’nash trees that survive, the Red berry tree, and the White berry tree. Both can be picked and, other than some mild psychological effects, are rather benign. Combined in the right situation ... Well that’s something else.
A wild species, vinus homophagus, more akin to sea-grape rather than the terrestrial variety, is not a monster despite its fanciful name. The grapes, a deep purple color when in bloom, and oozing dewdrops of perspiration, like the most prized and delectable of drinking wine grapes, do however deserve their moniker. Wine made from this fruit, is deadly to most humanoids, as is the raw berry, if plucked and eaten from the vine. It is the unnatural chemical concoction found within the fruit’s tart skin, which gives the man-eating grape its name. The chemical stew found inside each berry, functions as a necrotic agent, the same as found in some species of venomous snakes. The grapes literally eat the victim from the inside out, via cell death, dissolving organs and flesh in quick succession.
The tribes of Pra-Oohk Crater, from the jungles of Ghlush are known to sell the fermented “wine” of this grape to merchants of distant lands. Sadly, the taste of the concoction is divine when first quaffed, and even worse, the man-eating grape wine will never detect as poisonous via mundane means, its horrid natures somehow masking all attempts. Luckily the man-eating grapes are extremely rare, and endemic to humid jungles.