Whilst they are not the leading predators that they used to be, a bite from them is still to be avoided.

The Falani Tersk is an easy going and willing breed. They are very intelligent and eager to learn new tricks or commands. This along with their lovely silver color makes them highly desirable as circus horses as well as very accomplished hunter mounts and race horses.

Why rum all gone?

Send in the clowns.

Four maxims to remember at all times when creating a fantasy world.

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.

'Listen!'
'Listen to the Wind! Listen to Crackling Fire! Listen to the Groan of the Mountain! Listen to my Voice! Listen and you will See through the Smoke! See the Old Ways of our Forefathers! See the Glory of our Clan! See the Might of our Race!'
—Horn-Of-Plenty, Shaman of the Thorondrim Minotaurs, leading his people in the Khuugrad

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

I'm beging to wonder if there can be victory? Please don't let this go on...

Memoirs of the Nameless soldier

You are sailing along the sea when you see a lighthouse in the deep blue middle. It is a lone light house, built on a rock not much larger than the tower itself. It is an oddity.

These magnificent warhammers were created during the War of the Elder races, a war between the Elves and the Dwarves. Made for Elven clerics to use in battle against their dangerous foes.

Tower Isle gets it's name from the tower of gleaming ice that climbs high above the surface.In the summer it gleams in the sunlight and can be seen for miles away.But even in the summer the tempreture never climbs above -5 degrees, and in the winter it is not a place where most people would want to be.Myths say that a king slumbers there waiting for the world to end.

While Ozea, Dreifach, and Sangreal are the main cities of Falhath, they are by no means the only ones.

Many who have landed upon this island's golden sands have never escaped alive, hence it's name.Only fools, it is said, will attempt to take the island's gold.

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..

The sea is calm, the morning mists clear, the seagulls cry out, and land comes into view

The Drung, known as the Tribe of Starvation, savage warriors and uncompromising foes.