Hearken, warriors of fortune!

The chosen children of Acacius have fallen before the savage abyss. Years of exploration, of diplomacy, of heroism; all teeter on the brink of collapse. The lengthening shadows draw fresh chaos from the night, and even the bravest cower before the encroaching tide. Bastions of enlightenment have crumbled before the rot in the world, and servants of iniquitous demons gather, to tear the gods screaming from the heavens!

This is your chance to forge the shape of the future. Your chance to steal opportunity from the fickle whims of fate.

This is an age in which those that act will see their names etched in eternity, while those that falter will fall into ignominy.

It is an age of legend.

An age of blood.

An age of iron!

Sunday, 14 April 2013

The Reptilianoids!

Predators stalking through uncut fields. Squamous traders of exotic jewels. The lure of lost and ruined ziggurats. The exotic appeal of unknown gods. 

The Narga bask in the forgotten places, shunned by a world that now favours mammals. 


 

Reptilian hunters float serenely on the swamps of Ketlaco, pitied by those in the tree-houses above who despair at their less sophisticated cousins. The Rexes of the Savannah and the eastern fire-lands send envoys to humans and mud-folk alike, attempting to bring peace to their time. In the mountains feathered terror-birds run rapid raids, while the glaciers beyond are patrolled by descendants of a far older hatching. Warriors slink through the waters of the Ayotol Archipelago, fearful of the drums that begin the Troll's march to war. 

The Narga are as varied in shape as they are in culture. There are some that could almost pass as human, were it not for their scales and claws. Others look more like wild beasts, sporting frills and spines and bony hides. It is said that some are bred solely for war; rumours abound of hulking monstrosities that can barely speak, yet may level buildings without breaking their stride.



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