There are scummy dives, and then there is The Rotten Bastard.
The father of the Hanaset society, who to this day watches his people through reptilian eyes…
Beware these shrub-sized gaurdians of the forest.
Representing a primal force of nature which wants to strangle and slay all humanity, to bury their works beneath the roots of trees and their bodies as fertilizer.
The Ky’iish are greatly advanced in the arts of magic and created many strange and powerful materials and items. Some of their weapons were the most formidible artifacts found on Neyathis, dwarfing both physically and magically virtually all the works of man.
The Big Picture of the World of Nyathis, for the time being…
The Caretakers of the Vast City - Stoneholt, a race of great skill, persistence, and antiquity…
Swords are deliverers of death to the living. This one offers something more to those already dead…
The Wands were created by the Aldruku as a weapon to finally destroy their Nyorian enemies.
A fine chessboard indeed, but do not dwell overlong on your moves…
The Tsgara, commonly known by non-Rephatians as ‘Shark-Warriors’ carry that name for both skill in battle, and their appearance. They are the dominate member of the Warrior caste in the Tshaal and Tynarma Nations of Rephatia.
What follows is an passage from the journal of the famous Beastiographer Laans Torier
“Many have said the Old Men of the mountain were mere myths, or had been wiped out by the Theosians many years ago, but I am staking my reputation on the fact that they do in fact still exist!”
Before the lands were colonised by the Modern Races, other intelligent beings called them home. One of these races was the Alun - a people much like and much unlike mankind
In the great lake of Ture are hundreds of islands of various sizes, and not all have been completely explored by the Modern Races. One such island, with rough and craggy coastlines discouraging landing, is quite remarkable and worth a visit.
In the interplay between nations, espionage has always been a tool of statecraft. Those realms with magic have opened to them many more tools for application to spycraft.
The Scratching Stone has always been an area of interest for the local people. A huge slab of granite with a top a couple of acres in area, it is out of place when compared with the other rock formations in the area. It has bore many names - Evenstone, the Great Altar, the Giant’s Dinnertable and others lost to time.
“No my lord!” cried Herithi. “Have Mercy! Take my eyes instead!” Why did I say that?! thought Herithi, shock registering through him.My eyes? Shalali protect me…
Once a decorated Theosian Soldier, now a wanted deserter.
Ruan was the first of Tarak’s troops to disappear. When it was time for him to take a turn at watch, his bedroll was empty, and tracks led away from the campsite.
..The inn was filled with the sounds of leather creaking and seams bursting, as muscles swelled and grew dramatically. Then came shouts of fury and rage as the mob began charging outside, into what would be a very bloody night.
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.