At that moment the drizzle eased, and Ledoik could see as plain as day a blight upon the fields near the edge of the forest. Like a rock dropped into a pond, a wave of lighter shades of green emanated from the blights centre. Growing from the forest, where it was darkest, the field got lighter and lighter the further away it was from the blight. It was clear enough. The commander barked words, organising the archers, the few catapults they had and the giant rockslings to this side of the battlements. He motioned them to aim towards the blight, the dark patch near the fields edge

Conosca abbastanza per essere impaurito, molto impaurito

Motto of Cinque-Parte Polygnostic

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...

A set of stones which bring trouble wherever they go.

The Wastes can be beautiful. Here the land is toxic: slowly corrosive to the touch, causing illness and death with prolonged contact. The bubbling sulfur and ectomass pools (HellPits too) are especially lovely, if you have the right aesthetic. The soil is soft and any heavy object slowly sinks. If it was not for the special resources here (dyes, alchemical elements, resins, Grimrock, Verner glands, etc), it would be a place that no one would come.

Martha's coming wasn't a lucky sign. A heavy birth and a deformed face left even the midwife distrustful. But the child turned out healthy.

Named Timberwings; for the girth and strength of their wings were as elder oaks, thick and tireless

Beringia, the sinking kingdom.

It was Young Jim's first battle. He was known for being a tireless worker in the field and a very patriotic young man. But he didn't understand this strange armor they put him in... And he didn't know it would be the Last Armor he ever wore.

Of fire, but not elementals. Short-lived, yet intelligent. Bound to this world they are, more than most of its mortal inhabitants.

A random description pulls the players into the dangerous, scheming web of politics...

And Zhardun spoke unto [the corpses], and his rage at their cowardice was plain and open: "Now is thy last chance at redemption." 2:2:3,9

The large blades slowly rotate, feeding on the wind, you have seen the image before. But could these be feeding on something more?

Space-Faring, Hard-Rocking, Metal-Grinding, Star-Tripping, Deathdealing, Dwarves.

Dont mind him, he's just a rag man

Clochardshire resident, common quote

Nano-technology - Not Sufficiently Advanced, as per the Arthur C. Clarke gold standard of sufficiently advanced technology.

Gentlemen, BEHOLD! The celestial spider!

30 painted ladies of the oldest profession. Reader discretion is advised.

The last masterpiece of master fletcher Jugan of the Lorug Phreng

Dal Nastro, little more than a smudged footnote in mankind's history of expansion.