''In a world dominated by savagery and barbarism, we alone represent civilization. Is it any wonder then that we are forced to keep the horrors of the outside world at bay?''

-an anonymous Usholal

Founded on the promise of prophecy, this fiefdom owes it success to its previously worthless amethyst deposits. And its very survival as well.

The frogs are thick and plentiful here. Everywhere you go, you're almost always about to squash one of the slimy things underfoot if you're not careful about what you tread on. And at night, the tiresome din of multitude of the amphibians croaking, fills the air and render sleep all but impossible. Worst of all, the disgusting things are prone to invading one's hut, huddling in dark corners.

In this dank land, the Bombo hold sway. And the frogs thrive, as do their more mysterious cousins...

Serving extensively in the armies of human kings determined to eradicate the last tribal enclaves of ferocious non-humans that still stubbornly refuse to release their hold on the large tracts of wilderness which yet remain, this mercenary company has only one requirement of any potential recruit willing to sign up with them:He must not not be able to claim kinship of even the slightest kind with their employers..

'I stand before you now to tell you that the gods have spoken to me! Obey not the strictures of the Church! They seek only to deprive us of the very same pleasures that they enjoy themselves'.

‘‘There were five of them all together, these monstrous walking trees! Yep, trees that walked! By the look of those nasty things, they were probably trees that ate people as well. Tried to kill us with those giant rubber balls, they did, those hell-spawned overgrown bushes…

Cut that laughter out, damn you! We weren’t drinking salt-water when that happened! Those crazy things are real! And if you don’t believe me, sail there yourself, you lousy land lubber! Don’t tell me I didn’t say ‘‘I told you so!’‘, when those vicious monsters finally squish you with their roots’‘.

Unique among the sea monsters that infest the oceans of Acqua, this abomination is cursed with a hunger for power that can never be satisfied.

‘‘By the strength in my sinews, I swear upon the spirits of my ancestors that this Curd will not forget the mate and children he has lost, nor find rest until his jaws have crushed the life out of the scum that dare to call themselves the Brave People!’’

‘‘We are the Lords Of The Straits, Rulers Of the Sea, and the very ocean acknowledges us as Her children! Men of Pan-Kor, nothing sails on the waters without acknowledging our might !’’

Like the heated embrace of a lover, this singular thing caresses and binds itself around the chest of the wearer, linkings its fate with his to the end of his days...

Isolated from the known world by the seemingly endless watery wastes of the fabled Vaet Ocean, the Eshal rule the watery continent of Tarrod with an iron fist, ever ready to carry out plundering raids on the subject races at the slightest excuse. Proudly calling themselves the Brave People,the Eshal are a race of savage warriors and fanatics that are driven by the consuming need to find an ever larger number of victims to feed the monstrous thing known simply as the Matriarch .

Honored and cherished by the people of the Ragosi mountains, the Osaki have allowed them to retain their freedom in the face of those who would enslave them.

Swift and deadly as any Dunleoustous, the Anura remain a proud and free people, though outsiders have time and time again, imposed great cruelties on this race.

Blessed enough to enjoy friendly relations with many nobles, some of them very close to the king of Haracon himself, the Guild leaders of the Keepers are the criminal big-wigs every wealthy and famous animal collecter wants to invite to the grand opening of his exotic zoo or animal park.

Lying forgotten on the ocean floor by the children of Acqua,reposes the very monument that commemorates the passing of the islands from the hands of the Old Ones into those of their ancestors who sailed out of the mists long ago to claim them for their descendents.

But in a twist of extreme irony,others have come to venerate this creation abandoned by the race of man that built it. They are the Old Ones,the very same race whose defeat this statue is supposed to represent.

Welcome,o distinguished traders to the Great Market of Ushart! Here you will want for nothing when it comes to the exotic and wonderous!

Just mind that you have a strong stomach…

8.) The Revolutionary
This guard is a secret revolutionary. He has a deep hatred for members of the aristocracy, and has made getting this job his lifes work, with the sole intention of assassinating members of the royal family when he gets the chance. So far he has been unsuccessful, first because he needed to gain their trust and then because he has never had the chance-other guards have always been in the right place at the right time. He did once use poison, but the result was not fatal for the target, who put it down to badly cooked food and sacked two of the royal cooks. In battle, he would try and kill as high-ranking a noble as he could: And if he could get away with it, a noble on his own side.

As the officer strides into the thick and oppresive pitch-black gloom of the jungle, he silently signals to his men to fan out in a classic Quarsooth battle-formation with a nervous hand-gesture. He is very tense, almost afraid. The soothing, omnipresent presence in his mind tells him that he has no reason to worry, assuring him that victory will belong to those noble warriors that carry the standard of the invincible race of Zor-Tanis.

But there is something else cutting through the easy promises offered by that pleasant, gently commanding entity in his mind, as if determined to seize all his attention and use it to torment his imagination until it begins to scream for mercy. This something he cannot define and put words to, but it makes his skin crawl nevertheless. Despite the heat of the jungle, his blazing gold body-armor had suddenly become a chill prison that raises uncomfortable goosebumps along his chest.

Woried muttering from the rear tell him that his men like him, are unsettled. Turning aound in irritation, he begins to hiss at them to remain silent, afraid of alerting the very band of murdering monstrosities they have finally tracked into this eerie wilderness. It would be a rather embarassing matter for their commander if the very quarry they had been relentlessly pursuing for the past week or so, were to suddenly turn around and massacre all of them.

Too late he feels a something slithering around his neck. Fearful that it might be a pyhton, he reackes for his massive ''fire-bow'', determined to incinerate the scaled menace before it can crush his larynx. But before his fingers even have a chance to close around the handle of the weapon hanging from his belt, another coil slithers out of the darkness and out of the darkness and pinions his arm, holding it in a painful crushing crip. As agony swamps him, he can vaguely hear a grim sound of cracking bones through the pain-filled haze that now holds him. His arm is being crushed. And then so quickly that his stunned mind has no time to register this new fact, there is no time left for more thought. The coil looped around his throat begins to squeeze, suffocating him. As the officer's head begins to swim in the final moments of his life, he finally gains an excellent look at the thing that is stealing his life.

It is not a snake, but a vine. As if in response to this discovery, a now terrifyingly familiar roar of bestial fury rings through the gloom of the jungle..

Bestowed by the pagan Godess Inar,upon the king of Silamarh in the his nation's most dire time of need,it allowed to destroy nigh single-handed,the great horde of the infamous barbarian war-chief,Hordan.

The classic sword of the incorrigible munchkin,you think? Not quite.

A highly talented chef, this young man takes great pride in his job.