Serving extensively in the armies of human kings determined to eradicate the last tribal enclaves of ferocious non-humans that still stubbornly refuse to release their hold on the large tracts of wilderness which yet remain, this mercenary company has only one requirement of any potential recruit willing to sign up with them:He must not not be able to claim kinship of even the slightest kind with their employers..

The Comet is a herald of things of importance, normally on the field of battle.

Lets face it the Hobbits are dead and gone so if you would like to create a race to ease the pain of their departure or use necromancy to bring them back from the dead then this is the place for you.

Quietly situated between chic salons of the nobility and the grand halls of the great guilds is the Tabernacle of Discrete Amusements.

The House of the Duck is a well visited establishment, known for the quality of it's wine and the clean and friendly vivaciousness of its workin' gals.

One of the mercenary circles who can trace their origins back to the Greater Comet School.

A unique spear that was lost in production.

From the age of 15 he was trained to be a gladiator and for the next seven years he was, until he broke free in order to fight and defeat his capturers. For the past several years he has been waiting for that moment.

This is a light armor developed by a smart -now master- alchemist. It is a light, gives decent protection, is of high quaility and thin enough to not be noticable in public. In short the perfect armor for travellers that don't want draw attention to themselves.

Water drips from the ceiling in a steady rhythm. Water refracts torchlight, illuminating the depths of the pools with reflected torchlight.

Some are called dhampir, others exalt as champions of undeath, and yet neither of these are correct...

The sight of a war forbici on the battle field makes some laugh, others fearful, and some simply confused. In well-trained hands, however, it can be a lethal weapon.

A voice as supple as silk, a face hidden in the shadows of a hood, yet the words she speaks are colder than the grave and burn more furiously than any inferno.

In the quaint little town known as Golothei, the infamous black legion makes it's last stand against the mountain tribes of the Ugeroth. On the Asylum River Island the battle rage most intensely, legionary squad mages barely holding their own against the onslaught of chaos worshipping tribal sorcerors. To this location the PCs are destined to travel in search of the powerful artifact known as the Tallow Candle. But not all is as it seems within the halls of the asylum.

Thoral's grim brigade is a mercenary unit under curse. They are led by Thoral, a half-undead half-realdead reanimated barbarian who negotiates the brigades affairs in a terse and direct whisper.

I don't know what it was that set Shoutin' Sam off, but when he left, it was like goddamned Apaches had busted in here and had a scalpin' party in the saloon...

There are certain things that need not be said, and events best left in the past, to be forgotten. Be careful what you wish for.

Failure. For most, it is an occasional streak of bad luck to be suffered. For others... well, it's a living.

A Magic ring, made from the storm shards. It can transform the morality of a person and contain them until the world has forgotten them. In effect it renews a person after their own personal storm.

'The great hulk of the scaled beast lay wheezing before me, and I am not ashamed to say that I was frightened: though it was injured, I knew the dragon could easily tear me in twain. The young monk, however, knelt beside the creature's head, whispering to it in a strange growling tongue. I questioned the woman, but she ignored me completely, engrossed in examining the scaly monster. After much badgering, she said merely, ‘I do not mean to be rude, but you are quite a distraction. Please, leave me to my work.'' -Jeron's Great Journeys, Book III, Chapter 4