Suddenly an east wind blew, and far above the clouds rolled and folded. Where there were once whisps of white there was now a long cloud formed in the shape of a recurved bow. Malakh bowed her head in humility. "That which you have asked is granted you, O Warrior."
...Vaakri reached and stretched, grasping at the sky. At first he seized nothing, but his heart was filled with the Empyrean Emir's winds and light, and finally he grasped the bow from the far sky and drew it to the earth.
- The legend of Vaakri
Pavise: a full-body concave shield used to by medieval archers as defensive walls while reloading.
Pavisade: archaic term. a row of shields hung on the side of a ship to protect it at war and discourage boarding by enemies
Life dies in my wake, sacrificing itself to my hunger
The Masque of Hunger
Be a good little prince and stop throwing tantrums of the Black Jester will get you and eat you up.
Words of many a Nanny and noblewoman
Caution: Graphic Content
The Mughal of the Gremils, the Shah of Lag, the most devoted of Mathom.
Age is a terrible weight
The Grand Forge of Karak is known more generally as the Forge of Woe, for none can use it and remain untouched.
‘Remember Lais and do your job well, perhaps one day you’ll be a Princess in a foreign land.’
The Promise of many a brothel keeper.
Ye Olde English
Oblat - A soldier who, grown impotent or maimed in service, hath maintenance or the benefit of a monk’s place assigned him in an abbey
The champion of the Goddess of War!
My Queen should be pleased that Aurixia cannot grant me an heir, for if my dragon could give me a child I would have no use for the woman or her dubious charms…
Attributed to King Thyr, from the Book of the Black Rose
A powerful clan of blacksmiths, Clan Ironspirit is well known as the single best source for forged goods of any metal throughout the world. Many a legendary artifact has been born underneath their hammers, however, their price is almost never something so simple as mere gold.
The legendary blacksmith, founder of clan Ironspirit, and he whom brought the steel of the Gods themselves to mortal man.
In Aelfa’s arms, have I left my anvil…
These were the last words of Davyd, the last master alchemist of the Old World, upon his deathbed. For nine centuries many have sought out Aelfa to find the anvil so that they might create weapons of power equivalent to those crafted during the height of the Old World.
The characters are wandering through the bustling crowds of Lasopolis. A street conjuror is performing a simple summoning spell, something for the kiddies. A bit of odious purple powder in the fire, an incantation and out pops a saak-lizard or a muhmentarsh, writhing from the flaming brazier. But the conjuror has only a poor grasp of the arcane magical tongue. A few stuttered syllables could lead to Other Things coming through the brazier and giving the crowd more entertainment than they had paid for...