Throughly despising the intrigue and scandals of the royal court,Prince Michael has never mourned the loss of his crown and inheritance to a treacherous advisor of his father’s. No,inflicting vengeance on the usurper and reclaiming his throne is too petty for him. He has a more important quest to fulfill..
When the Reverend Fury had his old sword reforged, it was done for one purpose: to assist him in his quest to wipe the undead from the earth.
The Book of Fury is a tool that many aspiring vampire hunters would kill to get their hands on. Of course, since the only way to get it would be to pry it from the dead hand of the Reverend Fury…
“The abominations that walk this earth when they should lie quiet in their graves must be destroyed, and I am he who shall do this! So it sayeth in the Book of Fury!”
A simple, almost clear potion with a misty swirl within it. Pungeant smelling and extremely poisonous to drink. Its purpose isn’t to drink, however, but to call upon aid.
These are not ordinary gems, these are Thrar Stones. They are rocks that have been caught in the trunks of growing trees. Over thousands of years they are forged from stone to gem.
...and the crow spoke of an age of eternal night and of the devouring of the sun. The sea will boil the blood of the maker, the sky will flood with a dark pestilence raping the land of all its bounty, and the mounds will break loose what death had acquited… So is the propecy of the end.
“I admit I cannot withstand it’s corruption, I am no goodly man but i do not wish for the end. Too much anger rests in Kadagan as well, who will keep it safe?” Nerrad the Transmuter
Pulsating dry white, red, orange and amber hues—- the air shimmered as the fire spirits leapt forth to and fro in the pyre. Tendrils of black carnal essence twined and twixed into the night sky barring the waxing moon from sight. The pyre burned bright as the brave and the cowardly both made their passage in preparation for the next battle and deep within the hellish inferno a golden hue developed separate from skeletal coals that breathed life with every breath of the conflagration.
The searing radiation of the holocaust gave way to the black heat as dawn emerged victorious of the night. The souls of the warriors had departed, but in corporal ashes remained a warm and coppery glow.
When a very old ring is anonymously sent to the authorities accompanied by a cryptic note, they are confused. But much more is at stake…
When Lila the thief saved the lives of the sorceress Fortunata and her lover Martin, Fortunata gave her a very special gift: a ring blessed by the goddess of luck. And thus it was that Lila became the first Queen of Thieves.
At first glance,this modest looking cloak made of black leather,seems to be the perfect blessing for anyone literally wanting to become someone else.
The price it exacts fom the wearer however,is a fate worse than death..
When you have everything, you have want for nothing, and then the boredom sets in…
Ever had that oh-so-annoying companion, that just wouldnt shut up? Here is the perfect remedy.
A legendary sword used to hunt enemy leaders.
A legendary sword that might save your life.
This card when used in a strange ritual lets you talk to one dead person, but there is a catch
A legendary axe—once you are hit, there is no escape.
Ku Pum, the Sorceror of Trum Pku, was struck by a strange need, and in his need he sought out the aid of Stone Bell, a Spirit of caves and underground places…
Faye was born into the ocupation of elvish warrior
Wytchwolde-Under-Ash, once a great Thorpe, was razed to the ground by the ruthless, and truth told more than slightly deranged, Porcelain Princess and her henchmen, the Purifiers. When the flames had at last subsided, and a kaleidoscope of swirling, dull-gray ash choked the sky, nine hundred acres of old growth iron spruce, black larch and weeping birch, was burned to utter cinders, along with the entire coven of witches comprising the Sisterhood of the Silver Teat.
Now, centuries later, the forests are somewhat re-grown, and the town of Foolswater stands where Wytchwolde-Under-Ash once did. It is said that even to this day, one can still find ashes in the otherwise potable well-water of this village. Once a year during the Winter Solstice, the “Ash-Wind” comes to Foolswater, a suffocating black cloud that passes quickly but leaves dead birds and animals in its wake, darkening the trees, and staining the sky with black snow. The inhabitants of the village know better than to be caught outside during the day-long Ash-Wind. Everyone is locked snugly inside, singing old hymns that curse and re-curse the burned witches who once called this place home.