“ On some of the islands off the coast, the rites of the local fertility god revolve around ceremonial death and rebirth. The religion's priests have overcome this cycle, however: Each of them is actually undead, ceremonially slain and 'reborn'! Their religion is otherwise unremarkable, being an odd offshoot of the mainland's religions. The priests vow to resist their undead cravings, seeing these as the 'cycle of life' attempting to reclaim their spirits.”
“ 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”
“ In the days of old, before the dominance of humanity, the giants were the supreme rulers of the world and their crafts were considered to be the best. These beings venerated the god of the forge above all others and their swords and armors were the best that could be had even in the days of their decline. A hero seeking a masterwork sword might have to voyage long and hard to find a surviving giant smith or cache of rare and valuable giantcraft weapons.”