An explosion rocked the city walls as if a hundred mages unleashed their fury upon the peaceful people of Souls'e Province. An instant silence in the wake of the blast was nearly as loud as the noise that erupted right after as another series of explosions followed the first. Then the screaming began. Low at first, then became physical as if a wave of noise punched us all in the gut and sent us to our knees. Even the guards began running, screaming. "The people, they... they are murdering everyone. The city has gone mad. RUN!!!"
Damn 'ol thing it tis. Itches like nuthin I e'er felt. Stupid bugs, your the Poosker ye fool. Help me get rid o' these damnable things.
I hate to tell you this but you have what we liked to call, "Puces Barbe Morts", or undead beard fleas. And the only way to be rid of them is to cut off your beard and then burn the hair.
No! Just kill me it's less painful that way.
He stood before me, a freankenstien of a man beast that towered twenty feet tall or more. Its rigor colored flesh stunk of eons of decay both sickly sweet and of putrescence beyond what the mortal mind could fathom. I tried to gag it from my throat but my stomach refused to relieve its contents and for that made me more uneasy.
Former Cult Leader who outlived his usefulness
Hexenwolf – Magic, Were Creature, subclass Wolf
Hexenwolf are difficult to find and track. Those who are gifted with such ability usually keep it hidden and to themselves. All seem to be lost however to spiral down a long road of animalism if they are not careful.
Dr. Johan Kosdin Lerkoviski Were-Hunter
Imagine this. You are the honored guest of the Conyamo himself and his chosen peers. You are placed at his right hand so everyone in attendance can look on you with wanting. Your every move, every breath will be watched. You are the highlight of this evening. Unfortunately, removing the talari eggs will cause you great pain. The nostrum I've just given you will not help the pain but it will burn your vocal cords so you do not disturb the dinner with your screams. With more than one talari loose inside you, you will beg for death. If you had a voice, and you will receive what you wish for. It will be a long and painful as they eat down to your hallows. I would almost pity you, but your not worthy of my pity. Do not worry though as my attendants are very skilled and will remove most of the eggs to be eaten, but not all. Enough of this dribble, be happy for tonight you are the honored guest of tonight’s celebration.
Syr Caran - Head Chef to the Conyamo
Death cults, worshipers of dark powers, necromancers, and eaters of the dead. Individually these cults are horrible in society and the repercussions can have lasting effects on those they influence and affect. But what if that not just a small group tried to influence their belief on a people, but an entire people tried to use their belief to take over the world?
The battle between the Daemon and the Styarm was most bloodthirsty. The Daemon battled with fiery rage against the Styarm's thunder and lightning. They clashed and the heavens shook. It was as if the heavens and the molten rock below clashed and bled.
That is a part of the tale of the Untold War. This is the beginning tale of the Kaur.
In a time before time, the creation of Baymaroen was primordial as all worlds are. Forces of energy clashing in a climactic font of brilliance to form the bedrock of the world. Silence issued forth for an eternity but lasting an instant. The appearance of the Firstborn was instantaneous. Life created itself from the cosmic essence left behind by creation. This is the story of the first war, the Untold War.
And in the name of the great and powerful I command thee to return to your body, hearth and soul, so that you might walk again and continue in the gods plans.
See that. . . wait. . . what!?! NO! I knew it was too risky here. You have brought ruin to us all. Why you ask? Ready your weapon, a traveler has come.
-Father Hayden, performing a ritual on the deceased outside the protection of the church.
The screeching and squealing sound pierced our skull like a hot poker edging at the back of our mind and taking over any free thought. We knew what it was that was coming for us and could run no more, trapped like a mouse in a maze we frantically ran in circles trying to get away from the inevitable. It towered over us like a frozen monster . . . wait . . . it was. It ran its limbs against its own body knowing what the sound did to us. We cried in agony and horror; in pain physically and mentally. Knowing the fate that would befall us we cried in tight balls on the floor . . . the sound . . . it stopped. I looked up to see it walking away, its shoulders heaving. If I didn't know better I would think it was laughing at me for my fear of it. I'll never know for sure, I hope against all hope that I never will.
- Srowley, adventurer and historian
There! Did you see it that time? I swear someone is following us. I keep seeing torchlight through the damn trees. I'm telling you, something is following us.
Thom, your either seeing things or drinking to much. There is no one following us. See look . . . wait, they look . . . they look like spiders but they are on fire!
- Last words of Micha, Traveller and Explorer.
Page 589, cat. Air Elementals, sub. Stalkers
Placing wards of cow tongues and sheep blood around doors and windows is said to scare off the proddings of stalkers. Many tales and childrens stories tell of the silent stalker that enters the cracked window or unlocked door in the dead of night to steal the breath from a sleeping child. Crib deaths are often blamed on this silent stalker even though it is not true.
-Essay on elementals, subsection Stalkers.
The camp was eerily quiet this evening. The fire itself seemed nervous enough not to crackle; the wind seemed too scared to whistle. These treks into the Blade Peaks always worry me, what am I doing here? I find myself asking that very questions even during the day time now, not just during the night. Tales of rangers heading into the peaks and not returning were always common, what worries me is that myself and the group of rangers are heading into these blasted mountains in search for one such group. How my life would be much better had I not learned the truth. The Oricks are here, small brutish little bastards for true, but ruthless and uncaring. I just want to return home. Wait, a sound in the darkness. A scrap? A grunt? oh no they are here!
- Ranger Arkisa, Last journal entry,
As we viewed the island from afar, I knew we would be forced to land there. Our hull was breached and we are taking on water rapidly. My hope of us making the island is grim, but I keep a face up for the crew. The rumors every sailor has heard of this dreadful place makes even the stoutest sailer make water. We shall see.
-Captain Edver Brakuars, Second to Last Journal Entry.
Out of the three giants I am hunting the jotun have been the most aloof. It seems like they stay out of my sight for a reason. Who knows. I will track them down as i have the others to gain their knowledge. Damn, even the surtur were not this hard. Wait, I hear a noise, a drum perhaps… I will follow to see if I can find the jotun.
-Aergais, Sage, Traveler, Historian. His last entry.
The hot sun was murder to my pale skin. I didn’t realize how harsh it would be, after all I read about the harshness of the burning sands who would have known that the tombs would be an understatement? I left my Lemiean guids yesterday, they refused to travel where I required to go. They are fearful of the Surtur, and frankly if what they tell me is true, I do not blame them. We will see.
-Aergais, Sage, Traveler, Historian
From afar I hailed the large man in the dialect of the keirn, thinking him to be friendly. To my surprize, the closer I walked to his large boat, the alrger he became, until he towered over my small frame. His frightning size and pose did little to hide his friendly face and then I knew, that I had found the Aegir.
-Aergais, Sage, Traveler, Historian
Some claim that the giants were the first mortals to walk the land in the wake of the spirits rising when the gods began breathing life into the souls that Kasal deposited on Hewdamia. As elusive as they are at times, here are my findings of their cultures in my search for the truth.
-Aergais, Sage, Traveler, Historian
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