The industrial district of Locastus, where huge, cathedral-like factories rise over the low brick houses, and tall ivy-choked chimneys spew out black smoke, day and night.

The heroes storm the Temple of R’gu, the God From The Stars, to steal the Ruby of the Winged Master

Not every wolf can be tamed, and in time, the feral are certain to bite the hands that feed him. But what punishment can be leveled upon the wolf? Should he be cast out into the wilds, knowing even better now the habits of shepard and sheep? And should he be slain, what should become of his fur and fang?

How much worse can be a man than a wolf?

Within this ancient tome are 30 companion spirits for wizards and their ilk.

A sweet old Herbalist with a secret, how old is he really?

A mercenary for hire. If you can handle the foul stench of dead dog, sweat and grease.

A sword that stores the identity of the wielder. To transfuse the soul to the blade, one must first stab himself through the heart. The person will not die, but lose the freedom of the soul upon real death.

A tree of somewhat macabre aspect - its coconut-sized fruit have hair-like fronds hanging down, suggesting decapitated heads dangling from the tree.

"Yeeah!" the old man shouted as he made a dramatic flurry with his chalk - the mounted knight now bearing a stylized lance as it bore down on the many-headed dragon before it.

These are the various races of humans in Locastus, City of Mirrors.

Farmers believe that once a crop has been harvested the corn spirits are homeless, and will leave the field to search for a new home. The Scarecrow will remain in the fields during winter, providing a refuge for the corn spirit until the new harvest is planted in spring.

Aher Wolfhound, called Wolfhound The Historian, a man crushed by the weight of the world's cruelty

A gigantic insect, native to the arid badlands of northern Aquur, where fierce desert warriors roam the dunes, and the sand storms can flay a man to the bone in minutes.

The Broan, an enigmatic, amphibious species of unknown origin, that lives in the salt-water marshes to the east of Locastus.

A wonderous weapon bearing the power and grace of the elvish people...

Riders of the virtual waves, what is new in your world?

A magical, multi-dimensional crystal that damages all it touches, even reality.

The Obtort Ward is all that remains of what was once an ancient battlefield that was afterwards converted into a mass grave.

Life dies in my wake, sacrificing itself to my hunger

The Masque of Hunger

Perhaps one of the oldest of the humanoid races, the Pelamids are a sort of missing link between terrestrial humans and aquatic merfolk.