Prowling the wild seas of Acqua like the ravenous raiders that they are, these militant priests of Holy Jove are sworn to their sacred mission of destroying the unbelievers and infidels wherever they may be found on the open ocean.

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.

Throughly despising the intrigue and scandals of the royal court,Prince Michael has never mourned the loss of his crown and inheritance to a treacherous advisor of his father's. No,inflicting vengeance on the usurper and reclaiming his throne is too petty for him. He has a more important quest to fulfill..

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

''A thousand of the vile things we set alight, crying aloud the prayers of the Holy Redeemer as the demonic abombinations screamed in a chorus of almost human agony, utterly helpless against the flames that consumed their monstrous and deformed bodies. Never again will another human grace the banquet of these accursed fiends. But it pleases me even more to say that the gold which is so abundant in this heathen land, is now the sole propety of a nation blessed by the One God. No more will these repellent false deities lay claim to that which we have wrested from their worshippers''. -Corand Rogad, Conquerer of Tahutol

‘‘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 !’’

The Brotherhood's goal was to preserve traditional Eshal practices and customs, with emphasis being placed on the belief that every member of the tribe mattered and that to ignore his rights and contributions, would result in the Clan collapsing.

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.

Never look over your shoulder when you hear that hiss..

Some see him as a loathesome reminder of their faliure to cow a race humanity deems unworthy of existence. Others deem him a noble hero and resistance-fighter, a beacon of hope and courage to all the downtrodden of the galaxy.

Regardless, you don't want to smell his breath. Or ever see him up close.

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..

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.

‘‘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!’’

There are some men who treat their wives the way they would chattel,that is,with utter control and domination,regarding their spouses not as independent beings entitled to their free will,but as mere objects of theirs,subject to the will of their lords. Such is the nature of those doomed to become the Possessive Ones,upon their death.

His breath faltering into a final rasping final gasp as the stone coils crushed his throat, these last words resonated through the fading mind of the would-be grave robber.

''You dared to defile the tombs of the ancient kings, Lusoh scum, but die knowing that I will never allow once inch of this scared land to fall into the hands of those would seek to destroy the nation of my divine fathers. Long live the Shining One, Goya Varman. For I am him..''.

Destined am I to hunt down and slay the half breed called Rachat, for only his demise can bring me what I yearn for...

Doom and hope, misery and joy, are but two sides of the same mirror to this ancient force that has withstood the annihlation of an entire culture..

A plague in improverished locations, the Rot Beetle is the bane of those who are not careful about where or what they eat.

A well crafted but otherwise ordinary steak knife. It makes the cutting of meat sooooooo easy.

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.