Youth passes quickly for this race of elves, though middle age lingers for millennia. They have no love for the forests or other natural places, preferring their carefully crafted and tended walled cities.
A powerful empire, macabre and violent. Now gone, a victim of their own folly.
Great, mysterious chambers hidden deep in the earth beneath that enigmatic city of Stoneholt!
The Hanset are a sleeping giant of a race. Once the owners of an empire of Alexandrian proportions, they new reside in their hidden sub-tropical home, living the simple lives of tribesmen. Though bereft of metal tools, they have adapted to their forest home and it to them. Though their empire is long gone, they still hold onto the seed of its greatness.
The remnent of a much older time, the Methranar, the Icerender, the Lurker, is a figure prominant in the Megamoth Hunter’s legends.
The Yang to Lutazum’s Ying, the grand totem of the Maletanalu, the 5th tribe of the Hanaset.
At the foot of the World can be found both great treasure and danger! Adventure Awaits!
"When the dolphins and whales propel themselves into the air, it is a great spectacle and joy to watch. When the Salwar launch themselves, it is a terror."
The Lord of Agony, He of Corpulent Pain
A powerful, maritime people, brought down by the foulest Necromancy.
A tree of somewhat macabre aspect - its coconut-sized fruit have hair-like fronds hanging down, suggesting decapitated heads dangling from the tree.
"Yeeah!" the old man shouted as he made a dramatic flurry with his chalk - the mounted knight now bearing a stylized lance as it bore down on the many-headed dragon before it.
A magical, multi-dimensional crystal that damages all it touches, even reality.
The icy lands of Sagaris are cold and unforgiving, and the Frost Owl is a manifestation of the dangers of that frigid realm. Of all the fantastic beasts that roam the Sagarian tundra, the Frost Owl is the greatest threat to man.
The Walking Mountains of the lands of Eternal Ice
- First encountered during the Green War, leading to the loss of Castle Marcharin at the culmination of the Druid’s Seige
A flower from the gardens of the Divine…
Disagreements between the tribes are sometimes settled with Megamothoid battles, and during war they are almost always used.
The greatest city on Neyathis - not built by the hand of man, but by long-gone giants. It is a city of superlatives and place of new beginnings.
A beacon of brilliant white stone surrounded by black, clutching death..
Cold Comfort is a long-sword of star-steel, its blade giving off a wan, blueish light. Its grip is wrapped tightly in snow-serpent hide, and its pommel bears a single opalescent gemstone.
This blade is enchanted in such a way, that whoever wields it, begins to fall completely and irrevocably "in love" with the weapon. This love does not manifest itself as the expected reverence and bond formed between any warrior and his weapon, but as a deeper, truer love, one has for a soul-mate of the same species! The longer the wielder carries Cold Comfort the stronger and more disturbing this love becomes, and only the most powerful of magicks can potentially break the sword's insidious spell. The blade's owner will even speak to and coo to the weapon, convinced that the sword understands and returns this epic love.
If the blade's wielder somehow loses the weapon or has it taken away, they will become inconsolable, and will predictably go to "ends of the earth and back" to retrieve it at any cost. Such is the weapon's curse that even separation from it does not damper the feelings the owner has for the sword. Legends tell of several distraught and mind-addled knights who even years after losing the blade, still wander the country-side searching for their lost love. And woe be to the "new lover" if and when they find him or her.