The first of the space superiority vehicles to be launched by the newly independant Oraki after the war with the Word of Creation, the Spinner is an inexpensive vehicle, designed for high mobility and simple maintaince. Meanwhile, a single idea drives the entirety of it's armarment; that the only difference between a rocket and a particle beam is the opening.
An ancient pocket watch grants its possessor sway over time itself, granted, at heavy price.
You find a dusty violin on a stand in the next room. Through the grime of the years, you can tell that it is of excellent make. Perhaps someone can put it to good use? An instrument is meant to be played, after all...
The Baleful Eyes hang in the space lanes near the Sanctuary of the Oraki, standing ever-watchful vigil in the name of their safety. The first to sense, the first to see, they are a lynchpin of the world's defense.
A close quarters combat weapon, and one of the more vicious ways to ruin someone's day
UAC Scientists have discovered a strange artifact on the surface of Phobos. They wish to transport it to an 'off-the-radar' base above Saturn's moon, Titan, but fear that space pirates may have gained intel on the artifact. Additional protection is needed; this is where you come in!
A Cosmic Era, Event Horizon/Doom-influenced Plot, for the optional Occult Brotherhood quest.
The three sacred relics of Ahkti.
The result of Vauraki's wrath directed by Axtrami's will. The Sila'Khrysath is the elemental embodiment of the fury of the desert. Woe to those who encounter the Great Sand Wyrm within the Karikun Desert!
Jacob Latris was a Taurian immigrant to Obstaria. Now he is a man who has severed his connections to sanity long ago, and is searching for something that probably doesn't exist.
A thin, dainty old woman with a love of both gardening and the physical suffering of others.
Those of the bare chin, the clan of the wolverine, they who walked away from the mountain.
" Not all arrows hit their target, and not all bows are designed to make the arrow flew farther, but not all targets can evade, if you do it right... " - Pra'Eimus
A demon unleashed... to make the world a better place.
Incarceration in the Cosmic Era, adjustable for futuristic and dystopian settings
The birth and life of a god through the long ages.
With many legends and myths attributed to it, the Shield of St. John was wielded by the Prophet and bears the curse of fame for bearing holy magic. However, the only benefit the Shield could bestow upon the wielder is psychological.
Messes cleaned, maintenance conducted, problems fixed.
The sound was most troublesome. Long have I been prisoner to Kormack and his evil designs, and the torturous sounds my heart has been cursed to endure has left me cold inside. I endure and ignore. Cold to the pain and the suffering of poor souls around me. Their Fate forsworn as soon as they enter His lair. But this, this atrocity has pierced my now icebound heart and cracked deep into my very soul. The children... The mewling babes that know nothing of their future, nothing of the joys of life. Innocent of horrors of the world and the dread future it holds. How short that future is. I can not get the sound of the mewling infants from my mind, it is seared into memory as a brand on an animals flank forever to remain. Some have even laughed right up till the end and nothing is more damaging to ones sanity than a broken childs laugh.
Master Blacksmith Heaf Astes
The Prophet John's life and, indeed, death was a mystery. Some say that the gods placed him on this earth for his purpose without a past, and others, a rare few, claim that he was a god himself.
A final update on what happened to Kingmakers.
The accepted mode of getting otherwise unobtainable information is to go visit the cranky old hermit living in the mountains. It's just the sensible thing to do. So, naturally, everyone takes their monthly excursion to the hermit's hovel to consult him on everything, from lock-jaw to lovesickness, necromancers to nasal viruses.
Now, if everyone's always visiting the poor old hermit, there's going to be an enormous queue... "Wellcome to the Hermitt's Hovele, Please Take Ye a Number and Have Ye a Seate" reads the sign outside the packed dwelling.
Imagine the poor hermit, having retreated into the mountains to escape this precise situation...