In the royal year 451, also known as the year of Red Leaves, something strange occured. A star fell blazing from the heavens, in to the Midlands. Imperial Wizardry could be sent to examine the object. However things changed in the area. Royal Viziers were unable to postulate a cause for the matter, but the fact that none of the countyfolk were alive led to the whisper of one, chilling word. Zombie.

Many of the Undead face this terrible fate for mistakes of their own. Dark sins, or conscience heavy for the criminal deeds they have commited, they cannot pass on and linger in this world. But some do not deserve this curse...

There are some men who treat their wives the way they would chattel,that is,with utter control and domination,regarding their spouses not as independent beings entitled to their free will,but as mere objects of theirs,subject to the will of their lords. Such is the nature of those doomed to become the Possessive Ones,upon their death.

They come in the night, and they take things. Nothing neccesary. Maybe they’ll take some candle wax, mabe a few sticks, a curtain, anything. But guard all your possesions boy, because if you don’t, they’ll come down on you like a hellbeast in one of their damned machines.

The Poison Eaters Tribe dwells deep in the jungle glades of the Ushaika, in the lowest reaches of the undergrowth where no sunlight pierces through the leaves, and where the marshy ground wells up with tea-colored water at the lightest step.

Lai-Xeng was a traveling scholar and wise man. There are a hundred tales attributed to him, each one containing a kernal of wisdom.

At this time an old man, one who told the Prince wondrous tales during his childhood, walked upon the bridge and witnessed the prince commit suicide, saw him fall into the water. 'This is the Bridge of Fates. I foresee great sorrow and happiness. This bridge shall never remain neutral, shall know tears of joy and the blood of innocents'.

This is a popular children's rhyme in the city of Ur-Kanesh. It is chanted while the children run down the street on St. Arakis eve.

In the lands of the Ardamians there is a tale. A tale of the weather god, Shastalar, and of Tear, the spirit of nature. This tale is often told when the weather grows bad and the children huddles in front of the fireplace.

This is a scroll for every rumor or tale you might here from a friend or in a bar.

Below the surface of the Earth, dwelling in darkness and forgotten catacombs, the goat-headed Ghouls, dark spirits of murder, feast on the dead. Ghouls dwell in old, forgotten places, luring others down into the grasping claws of their evil tribes.

The Crawling Ghosts (from Parsic 'yabuj', 'it crawls') are the loathsome, disturbing ghosts of those who die lonely and rejected, shut-ins and the forgotten.

A Hungry Ghost is born when the lower soul (the animal soul of the body, containing physical urges and violences) becomes angered and, rather than descending to the Underworld, lashes out against the living, which, in its instinctive state and having dulled senses, it percieves as enemies who have 'wronged' it.

The Azhag ('ah-ZHAHG'; from Old West-Carmanian azadg, meaning watchman, sentry), called Tomb Guardians or Demon Shadows, are the terrible Undead guardians of the tombs of the Ancient Ones.

Hiding deep within catacombs of the ancients, in low, deep alcoves where they lie, spider-like, awaiting the taste of fresh blood, there are the hideous Torlakia, dark beings who once lived and are now, fearfully, undead.

Undead are, simply put, among the most horrific things one can think of. Can you imagine anything more frightening than a being which is dead and yet still walks? Can you imagine the horror of being faced by the hollow shell of being, a hollow shell which must feed?

These purses, made by the Dai Kiri, while looking harmless in nature, were made dangerous weapons by those who knew how to use them.

Baldamont Castle is one of the great Line of Civilization defensive posts created by the vassels of the Great King Arcturus to defend the realm from the Barbaric Northmen. Over the last two centuries, the Line of Civilization has move considerably north, leaving great castles without barbarians to defend against. Yet this castle still defends the realm, not by repelling invaders, but by holding enemies of the state.

Over three hundred years after the destruction of Linnarson, the ruins of Linnarson remain deserted; the warped magical environs inhabited only by the twisted and bizarre creatures that have been created. Amongst it all, however, the Senior Masters remain, continuing their eternal pursuit of knowledge. (UPDATE IN PROGRESS.)

This tavern is the place-to-be establishment of Shorenar Vas, a bustling riverside trade town of Veldea. Each night the tavern packs full of practically every man with a heavy pocket and a round stomach in the town. Should you be in the area, there's no place better for some good slop and a quick flop than the Golden Frog.