In a binary star system circled by four dead, scared planets, a shell of asteroids, and one of the largest intrastellar dust clouds on this side of the quadrant the Silvers are one of the strangest and most enigmatic groups not quite known. Their two giant, red, dying suns leave the system cold and foreboding. They accept no strangers, much to the chastisement of those miners lusting after the rich deposits that span the system. Those few who ignore the shrieking klaxons of the warning beacons meet sleek, silver ships, and then; Oblivion.

Of the little known about this reclusive group a few details are assured, they were founded by some insanely rich (and perhaps insane) personage in ages long past, their ships are feared and envied by nearly every spacer alive, and they are the best mercenaries money can buy, provided you can actually afford them.

What happens? Are you kidding me?

Twin-aspected aliens, the Kel’Regar are strange creatures, and their alien society, strange technology, and lithe bodies evoking the images of elves in some humans.

As you come near the Songpit, the sounds of sweet angelic bardic singing as if from heaven mix with the sounds of screams of agony. Your guard grins and turns to you. 'You'll either entertain us with your voice or with your pain, but either way we are going to have some fun with you.'

Come! Hear Uncle Jehan's band, by the river's side...

A potent drink gauranteed to turn good folk into depraved and desolate madmen.

Lady Carse of Tekne

With enough will, determination, and intelligence, we will remake the world in our image.

Your average posse of adventurous types is hired by a wizard to stop the attacks on a small village.

'Build a road, wide and surrounded by beautiful architecture, to lead from Guilders' Court to the new palace,' the Regent commanded Master Thraso.

Those Terrifying Tumbling Tubers: The Tale

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.

Bursting with an incredible, terrible complexity, the Oraki are a powerful breed of mechanoids, once that blurs the line between machine and man from the other direction.

Standing at the prow of the ship, Ashala rejoiced at the strong winds catching her midnight-black hair - flapping it like a pennant. The dark clouds ahead would have filled other seafarers with dread. Not Ashala. The dark clouds and wicked winds were an invitation, a challenge.

'Steady as she goes!' she shouted over her shoulder to the shipmaster, 'To the Eye!'

The Patron Saint of Beverages, Hang-Overs, Regrets

The dual, muted voice called out it's siren wail across the dunes, '...Of course, no one as brilliant as yourself would ever enter the deeper desert without one of my extra light canteens. Why, I haven't seen anyone come out alive without them! If you act now I can give you the reduced price...'

So, off again we go to slay the evil dragon... but what happens when said evil dragon is asking for a big favour with its dying breath... well, you decide...

A rare sight, but one dreaded by the foes of dwarvendom.

Not all vampires suck blood, there are those who suck feelings as well and you often have no idea of it until the vampire is feeding upon you.

In seeking to escape serving the Lord of Ravens many a hope flickered and died, for those who oppose him end up serving him after all.

Standing atop the parched hill and triumphantly displaying their gory trophies , the berserker s begin to shriek aloud their terrible, keening war-cries, confident that the coming battle will belong to them as the enemy flees before their frenzied onslaught, all its discipline and training forgotten in the face of a foe that harbors no fear at all for any enemy born of humanity.

Just as the red mist clouding their eyes begins to fill their minds with fantasies of mass slaughter, a mass of shadowy figures suddenly materialises out of the darkness, charging towards the berserkers with long, loping strides that lend them speed that is at once awesome and terrifying to witness, even to the crazed minds of these onlookers.

As a heavy,furry shape hurtles into the the commander, he falls to the ground, his throat ripped out by the savage fangs of his assailant. As his life ebbs away from him in the rapidly expanding jet of blood gushing from his ripped arteries, savage growls become the lullaby lulling him into the never-ending slumber of death.