Kisah-kisah yang unik

There are as many stories about Muerta as there are graves in the Carrion Fields of Gorm. Some tell their children ghost stories of a young peasant girl returned from the dead to punish the bandits who killed her family. Others, drunk in dark taverns, slur conspiracy theories about kidnappings and phantom guilds of killers. One constant bleeds through every tale: of a woman so consumed by hate for those who killed her that she refused to die. And of Death, so impressed by whatever hate-filled engine that drove this woman that he gave her Mercy and Grace — twin ethereal pistols — and made her his second in command. Now she hunts down wayward souls whose last grains have tumbled from their hourglass, and drags them kicking and screaming to their eternal reward.

Though the deterioration of the Mistwood and its evolution from idyllic expanse to death-filled tanglewild was a slow, wizard-fueled process, most scholars agree the true beginning of the end was marked by the interdimensional arrival of the Primal Beast. A creature hatched into an existence devoid of all feeling but hunger and pain, aeons of carnage shaped the Primal Beast into the apex predator on a planet filled with violent terrors. Desperately banished by would-be masters with failed hopes to control him, the beast was cast into a new world — one where he could ascend from mere hungry predator into an invasive killing machine with nothing able to stand in his way. For thousands of years, the Mistwood served as massive stomping ground for the beast's destructive play — and even the feared durana beasts made for tasty snacks. Indeed, there could be no rivals for the beast's territory, only minor annoyances. Until one such tiny annoyance employed vile trickery to trap the uns...

Admired by many, Marci's origins are known to nameless few. She travels mostly in the company of the Princess Mirana, but the roots of their friendship are entwined in secrets neither would ever needlessly reveal. To allies, she serves as fierce and honest companion. To enemies, she acts as dauntless deterrence against harming any she deems friend. Though unwise opponents may consider her size unremarkable, Marci possesses an inner power that imbues her strikes with incredible might. She'll decimate those who think to test her, but those who earn her favor will have an unflappable confidant for life.

In the aeons after the Keeper's exodus birthed the age of light, some amongst the first sun's lineage began to align against the chaos their ancestor's maker left chasing in his wake. Calling themselves the Children of Light, they saw no one else as worthy of taking up the Keeper's abandoned mantle, and they yearned to beat back the onslaught of darkness, creating glorious armies built to purge the cosmos of all creatures of primordial night. Valora, the Dawnbreaker, most prized warrior amongst the Children's ancient creations, is the shining herald of the majesty of order and light. Molded from the heart of a young metallic star, and charged by golden breath with new life, Valora was called to spread the glow of the Children's wisdom to the darkest reaches of the universe — setting fire to the heavens with each swing of her celestial hammer amidst an endless battle to keep chaos at bay. In time, the Children also revealed another purpose for the Dawnbreaker. Th...

Hoodwink's earliest years were spent in the idyllic expanse of green that once filled the edges of Krimwohl. But as that kingdom grew, and the needs of both her citizens and her armies became ravenous, rival ore and timber barons scratched and clawed to outpace each other in devouring the natural beauty of the border forests, gorging themselves to meet the demands of the changing land. To those living in the ancient timberlands, the choice came down to following the line of refugees into the pacified zones, falling to Krimwohl's black powder and steel while defending their homes, or fleeing further north to tempt fate in the haunted glens and groves of the misty Wood Tomo'kan. So it was in those treacherous northern mistwoods that Hoodwink came of age, dodging the horrific predators of the Tomo'kan, ingratiating herself with some of the local banditry whilst antagonizing others, and finding absolutely every which way to be underfoot whenever some interesting mischief ar...

Not even the other spirits claim to understand the mind and machinations of the eldest amongst them, Inai the Void Spirit. Privy to secrets that would shatter a mortal mind, the Void Spirit observes the workings of the universe from an unknowable vantage, choosing to let carefully groomed servants do his bidding -- only emerging from his Hidden Temple into the material plane when he deems that he alone can steer the course of reality along its proper path. With an expansive perspective on existence, Inai is focused intently on a point in time beyond which he cannot see, when the fabrics of multiple realities are fated to collide. Now he steps from the aether to personally resolve the battle of the Ancients and prepare his allies for what he views as a greater conflict to come.

Beatrix Snapfire and her dragon toad Mortimer are a welcome sight to the ragged folk who scratch out lives along the desert routes and oases scattered throughout Nanarak, the rain-forsaken gateway to the Outlands. As well known for her unrivaled skills as a weaponsmith as for dispensing wisdom, mirth, and the meanest firesnap cookies the world has ever seen, Beadie's survived to a ripe old age in a young keen's trade by being quick with her wits and even quicker with her guns. Indeed, the Outlands are littered with the bones of bandits and ne'er-do-wells who thought to take advantage of her small stature and propensity for kindness.

Mars, first son of Heaven, spent a long existence waging endless war, and saw countless more crusades waged beneath the banner of his old name. Wars of conquest and of vengeance. Just and unjust... Always cruel. So much like his father, Mars indulged his basest impulses--with inclinations much more monstrous than those of Zeus--and he inflicted suffering untold. But as the epochs vanished behind him, the selfish ways of his father--the ways of many amongst his godly kin, they who judged him despicable--eventually began to ring hollow. War for its own sake was no longer enough to satisfy his desires. For the first time in his ageless days, the god of war began to question to what ends he swung his glorious spear. As the Fates would have it, his solution came easily: he must wage war for a larger purpose, and inspire more than mere savagery and sorrow at the sight of his crest. He must at last lay claim to the mantle of leadership that is his birthright, for the time has come to burn dow...

The people of Ashkavor crowded around the temple square, eager to witness the ascension of their new guardian — to stand near the man as he bound their souls to his own. But as his final brush strokes fell against the runestone, and the bond of a new Ascended One was forged, everyone — even those who'd stayed in their homes — could sense that something had gone terribly wrong. He knew the cause instantly. The droplets of ichor he'd procured to amplify the potency of his inkpots had instead contaminated them, and the power of the binding spell he'd cast now threatened to consume him. An inky corruption snaked upward from the runestone, along the handle of his brush, soon overtaking his hands. From there it spread quickly. Once it overcame his face and his mouth, he couldn't have screamed even if he'd wanted to. All of his life he'd calculated on how to attain ever greater powers than the limits presented by his teachers would allow—going so far as to break the sa...

The men and women that make up the Nivan Gallants live a life of swordplay, chandelier swinging, and tawdry romance. And while all adhere to their creed that “A life of adventure is the only life worth living,” the exploits of Donté Panlin still manage to raise the eyebrows of even the most hedonistic of swordsmen. There is no monster he won’t slay. No creature he won’t woo. No tyrant he won’t stand against. And no noble immune to his silver tongue.

Children love telling stories about the whimsical adventures of fairies... That’s because children don’t know that most fairies are spiteful jerks. And in the world of spiteful fairies there are few names spoken of with more contempt than Mireska Sunbreeze. Born to a fae merchant king, Mireska grew up in Revtel; a cutthroat nation where manipulation and murder were the norm. But while she was quite adept at navigating the etiquette, unspoken laws, and social rituals that permeated every element of her life, she found the whole thing rather boring. So, Mireska did what most rebellious children do: burn down her family estate and set off with her pet wisp Jex to live the life of a wandering grifter.

For 500 years the mountain pressed down upon him, only his head free from the crushing weight of the stonewrought prison the elder gods had summoned to halt his childish rebellion. Moss grew along the lines of his exposed face, tufts of grass sprouted from his ears; his vision was framed in wildflowers reaching from the soil around his cheeks. Most thought him long dead, tormented by the gods for waging war against the heavens until naught but his legend survived. But, as the stories go, the Monkey King cannot die. So he waited. Until the gods came to offer a chance at absolution, he endured. And when they did come to name the price, Sun Wukong accepted their charge: he would accompany a young acolyte on a secret pilgrimage, protect him from demons and dangers of the road, and guide the man home in possession of a coveted relic. Do that, and humbly obey the human's commands in service to their holy mission, and Wukong would prove himself reformed. For a change, Sun Wukong fulfilled...

Neither myth nor song exist to tell of their coming. Deep below the surface of the world lay unknown wonders and horrors. Down and down again, well beneath the slithering magma fields and simmering roots of dormant volcanoes stands the obsidian city of Aziyog, its incomparable stonework spanning an endless cavern. Within honeycomb walls mortared with the bones of countless slaves lies the domain of the Abyssal Horde, and their brutal underlord Vrogros. Armed by the monstrous forgemasters of his kind and well-practiced in the arts of the Dark Rift, Vrogros is able to conjure forth flame and crippling malice through the twist between worlds. He seeks always to expand his holdings, destroying or enslaving all he encounters. Yet the lands offered by the subterranean realm are few, and so his sights have turned upward. By his command the first waves of abyssal invaders have already marched through the rift, a few doomed legions meant merely to test the might of nations above. Now, as his fu...

Like many great poets, Auroth just wants time to write, but the Winter Wyvern's life is full of interruptions. The epics of the Eldwurms have a long and colorful history, but some fear that the remaining dragon scholars are not as prolific as they once were, with few lines added to the Eldwurm Eddas since the last age of greatness. Auroth laments: "We forget that there is more to life than triumph and dominion over enemies. We must also live our lives in the pursuit of creative expression." She embarks on research expeditions, collecting books for inspiration. But all this research can be terribly distracting, and she spends less time writing than she should. Although she knows she should be lurking in her lair, adding to the Eddas, she finds herself engaged in epic battles against powerful enemies. She loots castles, raids ancient libraries ... and if she happens to heap glory on herself in the process, she tells herself that it's merely a side effect of her research...

From the first, Nerif's prophecies were unusual. They seemed not merely to portend the future, but to shape it. The weird soothsayer croaked out advice no one had requested, and suddenly the Cymurri found themselves immersed in conflicts with newfound enemies. The Advisors, sensing a threat to their power, were quick to pin these unwelcome developments on the latest Oracle. They demanded his removal, petitioning the Sybils to reclaim their defective prophet and replace him with a worthy substitute. But Nerif described an ominous dream of the Incubarium's destruction, and within hours came news of the ancient school's destruction in a catastrophic avalanche. Fearing the same fate as the Pallid Sybils, the Advisors withdrew to their counsel chambers, suddenly anxious to avoid the Oracle's notice. The Graven King, however, was a creature of great practicality. He doubted the commitment of his overprudent Advisors. An Oracle of such rarity, he reasoned, ought be used as a w...

In the storied saga of Dredger's Bight, no business has ever been more reviled than Techies Demolitions. Then again, Dredger's Bight no longer exists. Nor does Toterin. Or even Trapper Town. In fact, if one were to track the history of Techies Demolitions they might notice that shortly after Techies appear, towns tend to disappear. Like every inevitable disaster surrounding Techies, the obliteration of Dredger's Bight began with an invention. Tasked with designing a safer way of detonating explosives in the mines beneath the city, pyrotechnic prodigies Squee, Spleen, and Spoon developed their most outlandish creation yet: a button which, when pressed, would trigger a distant device to spark a fuse. Overeager to test their invention, the trio stuffed barrel after barrel with flamesalt explosives, piling every corner of their tiny workshop high with the newly developed remote bombs. From this stockpile they plucked a single payload, burying it in a far away field. As they cow...

Terrorblade is the demon marauder—an outlaw hellion whom even other demons fear. A cosmic iconoclast, he stole from the Demon Lords, ignored the codified rites that should have bound his behavior, and broke every law of the seven Infernal Regions. For his crimes, he was taught this lesson: even Hell has a hell. A short, brutal trial ensued, with many dead on all sides, and he was finally incarcerated in Foulfell, a hidden dimension where demonkind imprison their own. But Foulfell is no normal prison. In this dark mirror of reality, demons are sentenced to gaze eternally into the twisted reflection of their own souls. But instead of suffering, Terrorblade made himself master of his own reflected worst self—a raging, thieving demon of unimaginable power. With his inner beast under sway, he destroyed the fractal prison walls and burst free to turn his terror loose upon all creation.

Alone across an untouched darkness gleamed the Keeper's first sun, a singular point of conscious light fated to spread warmth into the empty void. Through aeons beyond count, this blinding beacon set to coalescing its incalculable energy before bursting forth the cataclysmic flare of supernova. From this inferno raced new beacons, star progeny identical to its parent, who journeyed an unlit ocean and settled in constellatory array. In time, they too would be made to propagate through supernova flame. So would this dazzling cycle of birth and rebirth repeat until all skies hewn of Titan toil deigned to twinkle and shine. By this ageless crucible the star that mortals would come to call Phoenix collapsed into being, and like its ancestors was thrust into an endless cosmos to find a place among its stellar brethren. Yet curiosity toward that which the dimming elders comfort in the darkness consumed the fledgling, and so over long cycles it inquired and studied. It learned that among w...

They came without warning. Within the city walls of Stonehall there came a rumble and a terrible sound, and from blackness unknown came a force of beasts numbering beyond count, wielding flame and foul sorcery, slaying and snatching mothers and sons to dark purpose. Of once-mighty Stonehall's military strength only the Bronze Legion, led by the indomitable Commander Tresdin, was near enough to answer the call of battle. They rode into their city, fighting through bloodstained alleyways and burning markets, cutting their way through the monstrous throng to the source of the sudden invasion: an ethereal rift within the city square, and at its precipice thundered their dreaded champion. Enwrapped in a corrosive shimmer, the leader of the abyssal horde swung its massive blade, cleaving a legionnaire in two as his flesh began to spoil. Tresdin lifted her blood-stained sword and settled her sights on the beast. It turned, smiling at her through a maze of teeth. Heedless of the battle rag...

Deep amid the Upland crags and cliffs there runs a seam of sacred jade long foresworn by highland miners. From this rare material, the likeness of the great general Kaolin was carved and buried at the head of a stone funerary army ten thousand strong—a force of soldiers and holy men, jesters and acrobats, carved by crafstmen and entombed for millennia in the dark embrace of the Earth. What the craftsmen had not known was that within the strange seam of jade flowed the spirit of the Earth itself—an elemental force at one with the planet. When the force within the carved jade found itself cut off from the life's blood of the world, it gathered its strength over the course of a thousand years and dug itself free and into the light. Now the great Kaolin Earth Spirit strides the Upland roads, fighting for the spirit of the Earth; and in times of need calls forth remnants of his buried army still locked in the loving embrace of the soil.