Few lands inspire less ambition, and more unease, than the white vault of Londorai. Stretching across the upper reaches of the world like a death shroud, this vast, wind-shattered expanse of glacial mass and snow-choked valleys has long served as the edge of every map and the grave of every empire that ever flirted with …
Category Archives: Warrior Class
Lost To Londorai – PRIMAL HORROR
The girl ran through the frost-bitten woods, her limbs a blur against the whitening dusk. Behind her, the trees rose like the ribs of some colossal carcass, each one rimed in blue ice, each one echoing her passage with the hollow, brittle music of the cold. Above, the sky was a vast bruise—darkening, deepening—and through …
To The Death – PRIMAL HORROR
The lion’s mane was a dark banner, soaked with brine and sweat, when the shadow of the sky-reptile fell across him. His broadsword flashed once, twice, and with a roar of effort he hewed the tip from the pterodactyl’s beak. Black ichor fountained, but the wound only enraged the monster. Its talons closed around his …
The Twins of Old Kartong
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ZHURU [Original Soundtrack]
VULSA [Original Soundtrack]
Zheros — The City of Whores
Zheros sits low and glistening beside the Craterian Sea, a stretch of harbor whose air tastes of salt, wine, and sweat. It is not ashamed of itself. It is proud. It was never built for virtue or restraint; its founding charter was written in lust and sealed with coin. The place exists because sailors need …
Zarnack
From the outside, Zarnack looks plain: sandstone walls, unimpressive towers. But step within, and it becomes feverish—a labyrinth of silks, incense, spice, and smoke. Palaces sag with cushions, harems writhe in chains, equine dancers sway their hips in opium haze. Every appetite is for sale: sexual, violent, chemical, or spiritual. The true body of Zarnack …
The Teachings of Krothuum
Krothuum was a scar of stone and dust on the southern grasslands of Zhuru. Its walls were low, cracked things, more a mark of pride than a bulwark, and the gates gaped like broken teeth. Smoke clung above the city, not the holy incense of temples but the choking reek of coal-pits and forges, of …
Tale of a Bare Bodied Dancer
The tavern at the edge of the hinterlands was a tomb of smoke and stale mead, its rafters heavy with the stink of leather and sweat. The day’s victory had been bought in blood and ash, though what profit it yielded none could say. It was one of those ruinous campaigns, where mercenary contracts promised …