There are three things, each sacred and bearded: Moon, Monks, and Moss. All connected. Tied together by the Monks of the Bearded Moon, an old order of healers, mystics, bearers of the secret knowledge, and inheritors of the Bearded Moon's gifts. Theirs is a sect full of mystery and bound by ritual.
During the Death Wars one unit was created filled with fanatics bearing unique tattoos that gave them an invaluable ability impressive in any military action: the ability to cheat death.
A summary of the Esgol Dwarves which make their home within Esgoloth, in Asydia
A troupe of players has made a rare stop at the local fair. There are plays, fortune tellers, games of "chance", and more! Great fun for all.
'You don't step into the ring with Ali because you think you can box.
There are three ways to live. And living them well, living them with purpose, allows you to die easy.
Come forth, the world weary, be assured that the blessed steel will guide you into the Green Vales! The wondrous Sting will herald your entry into the blessed realm.
What started as a small movement up in the Atlas mountains has in recent times grown in popularity among the commoners and excentric nobles of the nearby fiefdoms. This movement believes in maintaining the balance in all things. This also applies to good versus evil.
Equilibrium Cultists therefore worship two opposing deities of their choice, and try the best they can to follow the commandments given from both deities, even when they contradict eachother.
Vile cannibal clerics of a god of slavery and hunger
"Death. What happens when one dies? A question that all civilized peoples have tried to answer. Some claim you go to a place where you are rewarded or punished based on what you do when you're alive. Some claim that you a simply reincarnated.
"They are all wrong. The truth is that we are in a state of transformation. Humans are simply in a complicated version of a caterpillar in a chrysalis. We started as mere animi. Now we are humans. And just like the caterpillar turns into something grander after its time in a chrysalis, we become something grander when we die.
"You see, we become gods."
"O Divine Broker, merchant of souls, bless our transaction, make it holy and righteous in Your sight. May those that profit from it be ever prosperous, and earn our reward in Your Sacred Market. Release us from our debts, and grant us lucrative exchange now and forever."
- Prayer before a trade, from Bashad the Spectacular's "The Handbook of Divine Wealth"
Any number of clergymen might be accused of putting their demands for secular wealth over their spiritual needs. Even these, however, would never claim to worship their prosperity. Yet such is the case with the followers of the Way of Divine Wealth, a religion of uncertain history and unabashed cupidity.
The Noble Expertise of Creating the Remaining Organism is a gentlemen's club. People who don't belong call it the Noble Expertise, or perhaps the Expertise, but the people in the club call themselves necromancers, and the club itself N.E.C.R.O.
There are gangs, there are biker gangs, there are terrorist organizations, and then there are the Sons of Scorpions
Some historians argue that the arcologies that remained active after the Resource Wars were not the cradles of the Second Renaissance, but fortresses that prolonged the Second Dark Age
Banished from their foolish tree-hugger kin, the Plains Elves were forced into a semi-nomadic lifestyle.
Hi Ho, Hi Ho....not included
Two cultures at war.
The G&M, or GaMa Corp, not to be confused with the larger GM corporation.
Also known as the Adventurer's Guild, the GAUR, the Hall of Heroes and a variety of other names.
They're way over their heads...
Idea from the Aeneid. Could make an intriguing encounter when searching for firewood..."Quite near there happened to be a mound of earth, at the highest part of which were growing thickets of cornel and a dense cluster of spiky myrtle-stems. I went up there and tried to wrench the green growth from the ground to provide a leafy covering for our altar. There I was confronted by a horrible and astounding miracle. For from the first bush which I tried to break off...blood oozed in dark drops, fouling the earth with its spots...A piteous moan came from the base of the mound and I heard a human voice answering me: 'Why, Aeneas, must you rend a poor sufferer? I am buried here...for I am Polydorus. Here death overpowered me in a crop of piercing iron-pointed spears. And so a crop resembling javelins has grown over me...'"