The master thief Slith could steal a ring from the finger of an elf or the crown at a king’s coronation. He had stolen the great jewelled idol from the Temple of Imor at the climax of the Festival of Summer. Stealing the Ruby Sceptre from the archmage Bryseis should have posed no trouble to a thief of Slith’s talents. It didn’t: it was only afterwards that the trouble started.
Most feared of the Regalia of Dominion, the Ruby Sceptre is a terrifying weapon in the hands of a skilled fire mage.
A set of mighty jewelled artefacts, each keyed to one of the eight domains of magic. Once wielded by the Lords of the High Council of Linnarson, today they have been scattered to the four winds: some lost, some destroyed, and some in the hands of the mighty.
Everyone knows that that Senthia Khlack died with her father, the Duke Eldward Khlack, after their failed Rebellion. But what they do not is that Senthia still lives, after a fashion.
Blind mage that casts spells from Braile scrolls.
A one eyed mercenary the ladies just can’t get enough of.
A bald, runic-tattoo covered elven mercenary who looks out only for himself.
Feu’mer the inspector was quite adept at his work of solving and preventing crimes. He was known for a very sharp eye - and not the one remaining eye that was in his head.
Made of dark steel by those of an age gone by, this is the last of the giant war golems. Taller than elder dragon is long, this clanking behemoth plods across the land, obliveous to all works of men, elves, or dwarves.
Without these stone disks, there would be no Elventi Society. It is the HearthStones that hold the society together, allowing Elves to live together and in their beloved forests.
This enormous blade is capable of leveling more than just men.
It sees you, can you see it? Even when the room is lit?
Funny how those shadows twist, as though the room were filled with mist.
But theres no mist, the room is clear! About now, you should start to fear.
clear your mind, take a last breath. For in a second, you’ll meet with death.
A set of land, roughly six hundred meters squared, which has JUST not enough trees to be called woodlands. Though there IS something most curious about these lands. Perhaps the fact it is pure glass.
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.
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