"Their so-called god, it is claimed, loves, and thus love is their virtue. Foolishness! Love is only fear of loss, and fear is among the keenest of weapons in our arsenal. Let us turn their virtue onto itself, and draw more souls into the Devouring Maw."
- The Paragon, address to his Overlords, in the second year of the Sectarian Wars

'Bristlebane ale. Tall.'

Mathus looked up. He didn't recognize the man ordering, but he seemed the type: muscles beneath a layer of fat, a snarling expression with most of his teeth missing, fists like summer hams. 'You want it in a bottle?'

'From the tap.'

Mathus nodded. 'This way,' he said, stepping from behind the bar and into the back room, the 'customer' following.

A fresh-faced young man sitting at the bar looked around, confused. 'Bristlebane? Sounds adventurous.'

'You couldn't handle it, son,' an older man said from across the plank bar with a hint of derision. 'It'd right kick your ass.'

The dread pirate Corvorane was legendary even after his capture and conversion to a privateer. His secret fortress and hidden treasure are of equal fame. But more than gold lurks in the depths of Corvorane’s Cave.

A common domestic animal in the Siogalish household, the buckfowl isn't much different from a chicken at first. Until you get a look at its head.

'I have seen the beast, tentacled and cruel. Tore out me eye, it did, like pickin’ a plum. It’s cursed, I tell ye, cursed to its cold heart.'
-Jerboam the Sailor

Misunderstood and much maligned, the Hek is a traveller who dreads violence. If it only understood the violence it caused.

'As he said this he blessed them with his amulet that held the Firestone, which is called also Seenu's Eye. Immediately the priestesses began to praise Tinay, and the people were greatly amazed.'

- The Gospel of Dorcas, 7:20-21

"O Victorious Maul, send down your fury!
O Hammer of Justice, bring Dalraaen's law!
O Weapon of Righteousness, cast out the unlawful!"
- Magistrate Archivinus Kelstori, Ode to the Gavel

With the patronage of Dalraaen, this heavenly mace is the focus of the Magisterium's strongest order. Its darker roots, however, are hidden even to its wielders, and its very existance threatens the world.

'In the Black, dead souls creep
Seeking vengence without sleep.
Sacrificed for precious stones,
Rend they now flesh and bones.
Bloody staind and drenched in tears,
Stones cry out to one who hears,
‘Treachery has sown the seeds!
Now you'll be the one who bleeds!
Wear us well, you who brave,
Next you'll be in the grave!''
- Tas-Vessina's curse

'Anyone can draw a map, boy - there's no more difficulty in that than laying brick. What makes maps useful is when they are so proper, so precise, that they are living images of the places they represent. Encompassing knowledge of the geography, and mastery of the very space itself - that, child, is cartogramancy.'

- Sage Pakpao Sasithorn, Chief Lecturer, the Ezagun-Darkbolt College of Cartogramancy

The sight of a war forbici on the battle field makes some laugh, others fearful, and some simply confused. In well-trained hands, however, it can be a lethal weapon.

Most know the love that goblins have for mushrooms. Few know the lengths they will go to obtain their delicacy.

What appears to be a simple fisherman's basket has a storied past and secret usage.

'Dat woman... She was terrible to behold. Terrible but beautiful. She sat on a great throne, surrounded by her gatorfolk servants. She stood and she looked mighty angry. She look down at me an' Tergryn an' de rest, and she yell in some strange tongue - de elf-folk, I tink. She had a fury in her soul, an' I could feel her evil eye on me. Doric - hui, poor Doric! - she had 'er gatorfolk slash his belly wit' his claws and tore out his entrails. De gobbled dem up... Poor Doric...'
- Jorif Grisold, survivor

She is the high priestess of Jampiri, the outcast of the Kanaar, the guardian of the gatorfolk. Swynmoor's resident witch is powerful and knowledgeable, keeping the natural balance in the swamps.

''Hear! That which you warred for it gone. In its place is my own creation under my own authority. This Blessed Great Blue is my patronage and you will have no part in it! Lest you soil my sacred waves, I will cause them to crash onto your lands and drown your own creations. End your fighting: the seas are mine.'
Thus she spake from the Merciful Deep.'
- Yamasatran oral tradition

The mysterious Sisters of the Sea watch the events of the Sectarian Wars unfold from the safety of their monastery ships. But how long can they remain neutral before war is brought upon them?

"You shall find my body beneath the steep cliff, where the larch grove grows. Take my skull, and hang it from the old larch tree. And then you shall make of me an instrument: my skull for the box, the tree for the neck, my tail for the strings and bow. Whenever you play it, I shall be with you, for At-Beyi is inseparable."
- The Legend of At-Beyi