Magic has brought us to this point of self-destruction,' the Captain said. 'It's the dichotomy of our curiosity and greed, which are ingrained—greed, because we had to survive because we were always hungry, so we had to gather things, and curiosity, which brought us out of the trees

Once Ma-O was a god in his own right, now he is the most reviled of all Infernal Beings, held responsible for so much of the death and destruction that happens on Acqua...

Few would guess that this kindly old man with the uncombed hair was the willing accomplice in many of the assassinations in the last two decades.

Before there was the National Enquirer, there was Kaboo.

The legendary blacksmith, founder of clan Ironspirit, and he whom brought the steel of the Gods themselves to mortal man.

Though he like a bit of the drink, he is the proper organizer for the district.

On the surface, Sir Edmund Verney is a very good man, deeply loved by most citizens of Karnivhal. He is a war hero, knighted on the battlefield,a curer of diseases, and one of those who purged the country of evil mages. However, he himself has a deeply hidden secret life, that he wants very much to keep hidden by any means nesscessary...

A freed air elemental, with a reason to stick around.

Most Dragons live to accumulate wealth and crouch upon heaps of gold, content to slag troublesome heroes into cinders and distaining the company of men to absolute solitude. Vychan is not such a dragon.

James Barley is a hard drinking, minimum-effort working hired hand...

'8 Ortio, 986 - At last, I've captured the amulet! I certainly could not have done it without the help of my unusual mercenary companion. He has very much impressed me with his skill. We encamp in Durath Woods for the night and make for Kharath in the morning.

9 Ortio, 986 - Amulet missing. So is Thaxen. No longer impressed with merc.'

-Sir Wardren Lank's journal

A dashing Bard, who also happens to be a shared drug experience.

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.

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.

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...

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

The saloon was smokey on the hot prairie night. She looked over her fan at her fellow players. The fan hid her smile, but not the smile in her eyes. 'Well Gentlemen, I think I won't call you on that.' Her dollars hit the table. 'I think I'll raise.'

Once noble and proud, the Cyclopes of the desert are now all but dust on the wind...

The Latrani are elusive as desert ghosts, dangerous as sand scorpions, and as rare as oases in the wastes.