The only true god of the Stolen World.
Sometimes names can be deceptive
Watcher comes now. It comes to set me free
Of its curse of dark and emptiness and endless misery.
Nine times out of Ten, it's the undead that do the running.
Thirteen souls the devil took
And thirteen sons back he sent
Lust, Greed, Gluttony
Perversion, Wrath, Envy
Pride, Vice, Blasphemy
Sloth, Misery, Catastrophe
Moon Hunters or Moon Riders is what they were called. These wonderous and magicial dancers roamed the lands for many, many years preforming dances for kings and roality alike. But not all were dancers, one girl had a simple but different talent. She was the songtress of the group. Her amazing voice filled the hearts of all people. But at her last preformance…..
For the coddling of the weak and mewling shall one day be the Downfall of All Races!
—Morkoel Rasher, denouncing Moleskin in verse.
Et deprecabantur eum spiritus dicentes mitte nos in porcos ut in eos introeamus (Mark 5:12)
A beast made of writing; a strange, sad, and beautiful being that haunts the libraries and universities of the Sacred World
Created as a weapon by the ancient sorceror-primotologists of the Iron Triangle Nation, the Cutsman still stalks the underhalls of the city of Mehxaiyul, a spectre of blood and blades.
the Apple Tree of Selilion holds the secret of life and death
This demon was the pride and joy of the summoners guild. They used it in their war with the Vampires. But the Vampires’ freed the demon hoping that it would destroy it’s former masters.
“You know that saying that man made god? No, of course you don’t. But we didn’t make god. We made the Devil, and god is just a word the frightened cling to, to protect them from their own creation. And you? You are my creation. You are my devil.
Beneath crumbling towers wait
Ishafel’s Horror and Hate
A monster grim and bleak
Go to it if death you seek
Shirion may have been a human once. That time is long past. Now, it is an ever-shifting being, its form lost to time.
Bound to serve, unable to leave, many go insane with the duty of a ghoul.
Some years ago a dark cult was founded in the Forecastle area of Hahvrensburg. The cultists were defeated by a band of heroes. A month after the heroes left the city and went on about their business, something massive came out of the earth.
The old clock tower stands tall, but the bulk of the uppermost storey is crumbling and unsafe, with gaping cracks in the walls. The metal struts and girders supporting the great bronze bells are still intact, though, and the bells survive. The grotesque gargoyles and arabesques which decorated the original design have either fallen into the street (once or twice a year more bricks fall from the tower, prompting calls for its demolition) or have been defaced, but the main doors to the clock tower are still intact and show signs of being kept in working order. This is the home of The Captains, clad in raggedy clothes, with sooty faces, and perpetually runny noses. But behind each set of eyes is the look of a survivor. They live to stick together and make it through each day. Older than their years in many ways, the friendship they share with each other and Wims ghost keeps the core of a childs innocence and hope alive in each. But they are still very suspicious of outsiders. They are a group of street children who live in the clock tower. Some are orphans, some runaways, and some nomads who occasionally return to their homes. But they’re all poor, dirty and perpetually hungry, as well as being wily, unscrupulous and mischievous in a fairly brutal way. Enough of them have suffered at the hands of adults for all of them to be wary of any grown-ups, particularly ones who ask too many questions, although with hard work and a lot of food it might be possible to win the confidence or even the trust of a few of them.