The Ducal Retainers of Urania who patrol the ever moving Twilight Zone, carry special swords that only they may legally carry.
The Tree-of-Blades (along with the infamous dragonsword, with which we are not concerned here) is the signature weapon and symbol of the Dragonfighters of Mount Taris. It is also known as the Dragonfighter axe, or as the txarian (this name, pronounced “char-EE-ahn”, comes from Txarian Tapolosthes, the feared Chilliarch of the Dragonfighters, who led the his people in a series of short but vicious wars against the Mysians).
Just like with the sharks they so revere,a wrong or inappropriate action can provoke a lethal reaction from a Shura. As the other mer-races are so fond of saying among themselves,the only thing more unpredictable than a shark is a Shura. This is a prefered weapon, simple yet deadly.
These are the items magic-users and alchymists would be really creating: minor, useful, and easy to sell.
Some call the Khawarezmians primitive. Paperswords are not made of paper or parchament. They are made of thin sheets of bone laminated together. It takes expert craftsmanship to make them. They are anything but primitive.
Every item does not need to be POWERFUL… EXOTIC… MYTHIC, but it does need to be interesting or useful. After all, if the item is not useful in some way…. why did anyone take the time and materials to make it?
Maranesh, God of Magic, wearied of the multitudes of humans who came to him, clamouring to be taught the secrets of magic. So it was that he devised a test that would separate the worthy from the unworthy.
This is a compilation of the races of Hewdamia. Each is unique in their own way with certain strengths and weaknesses.
A pleasant little grove with an unusual resident
Non-Nagani are no more then our lower caste. While they may have property in their lands, they are nothing more than the dirt at our feet. Even our lower class can order a human in our lands. One day it will be as such in their lands.
Rsskilarn, High Priest and second hand to Tlatoani
The dry ocean is vast and limitless. Only a few can navigate her dry clutches and survive. For those fools above us in the lush green that think they can find treasures and lost magics here deserve to be lost. I pray to Sceleris that their soul does not stay and haunt the desert lanes with their ignorance after death. Do they deserve their demise? Only the Goddess knows the answer to that.
Kanakuk - Prophet and Seerer
The weather is something that everyone always notices and talks about, but can’t do anything about. It is an important part of everyone’s life, yet it seems to be ignored in games. And everything important in a game is best thought of as a character of some sort.
The high society, the creme dela creme, waste often a great amount of money on luxuries and amusement. In a fantasy world, there is sure more to throw out heaps of money for than fancy clothes, shiny jewels and fast horses, mansions and wars…
Winter time is a wonderous time for adventure.
Vague predictions of the future and lead one to adventure.
In my setting that is posted here called “The Kingdom of Orentia” the appointed ruler of the town of Thorpe is Griffin Orent. Griffin is actually the leader of a rather large group of bandits operating all over the kingdom. However, these are not your normal bandits…
No one finds the Remover of Inconvient Things, The Remover finds you. So be careful about what you whisper in the dark, The Remover may hear it and come.
We are not mere assassins, we are Gods will.
The Order of the Dry Bones is an order dedicated to the Destruction of Great Evils. They are the hands of a secret cabal dedicated to destroying Great Evils.
Traps gathered from the remains of a dead site. Honour and enjoy what ingenious traps were created by people unknown…
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