Where came the sickness, the shaman knew not. No herb, no smoke, no spirit dance could carry it away. What curse of heaven carried the plague, the sages and priests could not say. The gods struck, and no prayer, no elixir could save their victims. How the malaise spread, no doctor could know. With not even a body to spread the miasma, surely it must be a curse. And when at last, the right lenses were turned upon the pus of the suffering.  

The most common domestic companion animal of the Kel'Regar, the Kel'Mestath has been bred into a wide variety of sizes and roles. Humans and their allied species often think of them as similar to cats or dogs, a perspective that the Kel usually encourage, for the full understanding of the Mestath tends to cause a certain level of discomfort in many aliens, but especially that close ally, humans.

A finely wrought headpiece, a silver headband of thin wires, woven in a pattern reminiscent of the haze, with a peculiarly cut gem set to be worn in the center of the forehead. It shimmers in the light, somehow catching any glimmer on the wrong facets, and the magic it radiates feels so very far away - as does one's thoughts when it is worn, as if all the world was refracted through that odd gem. But are they all the wearer's thoughts that come to mind, from so very far away?

To be touched by a God is to be drawn from this world, and into another.

Love. Hate. Lust. Pride. Greed. Many are the emotions that can inflame the human heart, and of the brightest and strongest of all of these is born, Atarkhul Prince of Passion.

Far, far to the south, where east and west meet and become north, there is a valley, carven not by the slow slide of the world's rocky skin over her firey heart, but rather the wind and water have carven it, deep and narrow, folding away from the sun. Here, at its deepest depths, the Light never reaches. Here, at the top of the bottom of the world, lies the place which Shadow and Darkness have dedicated to themselves.

After the horrors of the Scranja war, Humanity found itself in a predicament that it had not faced since well before the birth of civilization. Scattered to the solar winds, and very nearly the victim of genocide, many of the isolated pockets of mankind faced population bottlenecks, and the possibility of failure from inbreeding. The Synthmen were a part of the solution.

Direct Neural Programming had been the dream of many education 'reformists' and technocrats. The perfect way to teach skills, divorced almost completely from the requirement that human teach human. One single avatar of a skill could be used to propagate that skill until it became obsolete. Billions were poured into its development and marketing, thirsted for by corporations, the military, and politicians, each group wanting the surface and the sinister. But it was not to be.

An ancient weapon, forged by the First Ones, the terrible power of Order's Reach is as much a consequence of the nature of reality as it is blessed by the Divine.

A polished flake of porous stone, stained a deep, rusted brown, this once-hallowed knife contains traces of the eldest of magics.

The second of three star fighters launched by the Oraki immediately after the war with the Word of Creation, the Wasp is a short-flight, non atmospheric fighter designed for heavy firepower and survivability.

The first of the space superiority vehicles to be launched by the newly independant Oraki after the war with the Word of Creation, the Spinner is an inexpensive vehicle, designed for high mobility and simple maintaince. Meanwhile, a single idea drives the entirety of it's armarment; that the only difference between a rocket and a particle beam is the opening.

The Baleful Eyes hang in the space lanes near the Sanctuary of the Oraki, standing ever-watchful vigil in the name of their safety. The first to sense, the first to see, they are a lynchpin of the world's defense.

Gather your hatred about you, and master it, my brothers. It is the strength behind your shield, the speed of your blade. Do not abandon it, for without it, you are empty indeed.

The Unyielding Rage

A tiny ampoule of steel and old, clotted blood, hung from a black iron chain, the Amulet of Dark Valor holds the drive of the furies.

The faded, yet oddly pristine robes of an ancient healer, this cloth radiates a palpable sense of comfort, of wholeness.

From time to time, one of the All can be divided from the One and All mind. This is a traumatic event, and it is rare that the severed member of the All survives, let alone becomes a solitary One. But from time to time, it can occur. Seeking succor from the desperate silence in its mind, the One Beneath The Waves has sunken himself beneath the oceans of Shamash II, and there it lies, seeking fruitlessly to soothe its injuries.

Those cast out of eternal life by the Great God Juffo find themselves lost forever in the Non. Here, away from both His Holy Warmth and the cold, harsh vengance of His Adversary, Zeln, there is truly nothing.

The failed prototype of the artificial race, the Oraki, it was Kain's misfortune to be found, and resurrected by those who bore a special hatred for his kind. Twisted now in mind and body, this monstrous man machine haunts both its kin and its former captors.

The sixth iteration of Micro-Arms founding invention, the MWP-6 is a compact anti-personnel weapon, designed for use in ship and station side environments, where failing to breach the hull is even more important than the destruction of the target.