“ Sessiliths (name based on the word sessile) are gargoyle-type creatures which are stationary, attached to the stone of whichever foundation they are bound to. Though they can move their extremities and limbs they are unable to move away from their particular perch. In lieu of swooping down and attacking like their mobile cousins the gargoyles proper, sessiliths are equipped with their own brand of mischief. The creatures are all able to verbalize and thus usually hurl vile insults and curses upon passersby. The cumulative effects of dozens of sessiliths cursing, screaming, and speaking in tongues, can have an effect of temporary confusion (or even discord) in those forced to listen to the shrieking stone gremlins.
Additionally, most possess the ability to 'spout' or spit forth various undesirable projections, such as tar, boiling water, or even acid. While they can usually be avoided easily enough or even destroyed (their 'bodies' feature the same defenses as gargoyles), sessiliths are usually placed in such a way as to hinder all trespassers and interlopers, narrow corridors, claustrophobic tunnels and other related 'gauntlets', where they cannot be easily avoided. Like gargoyles, sessiliths come in all sorts of grotesque shapes and sizes, though they tend to resemble tiny horned devils, demonic amphibians, or simply distorted faces and heads, more often than not.”
“ 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”
“ A noble claims that a stranger did not enter the town by any normal means, but trough his mirror. The man in question is ravening mad and mutters on about vast halls connecting all the mirrors in the world.”
