Pastoral Fragment

Broad fields of crops were basking in the sunlight, tended by semi-autonomous servitors. Scanning the scene, she could see a number of different grains being cultivated in the valley. The wind was making the stalks shift in waves that rippled with the gentle gusts. Although the fields were sizeable, there were
occasional field boundaries, marked by trees. Directing her gaze towards them, the suit's sensors zoomed in at a subvocalised command to pick out a rough track following the tree line and under their cover. She datted the view to her troops' tactical processors.

The Thunderers - Descriptive

The Thunderers are a trio of daemonic brothers with seemingly elemental ties. Rarely summoned except to battle, the brothers manifest as broadly muscled behemoths with slick skin that turns unenchanted blades aside. Unlike the traditional image of the daemon, there is little to suggest brimstone, but still their presence reeks of wrongness, barely hidden by the aromatic smoke that typically issues from censers held by their servitors.

Their very presence in this world is marked by sudden stormy weather even from previously sunny and clear skies, while stored food and drink within thirteen miles of their presence is instantly spoiled.

Their great power as shock troops of the otherworld comes from their ground-shaking footsteps, which are prone to knock all enemies within thirty foot of them from their feet. The impact of their sharp-horned fists on armour is accompanied by the crash of thunder and often severely damages it. Within a half-dozen blows, it is not unknown for a fully protected knight to suddenly find his breastplate riven from top to bottom; with another blow heading rapidly for his now vulnerable torso.

Their time in our world on each summoning is fortunately limited to the length of time that the summoner spends in a ritual circle concentrating on the spell. It is typically therefore a primary goal of any commander who has found themselves facing these beasts to locate and disrupt the summoner's concentration.

Dungeons and Dragons campaign briefing

The Known World sprawls from icy wastes to lush jungles, and has embraced the challenges of both magic and burgeoning technology for both weal and woe. The Known World is that of the light – largely above the ground and comprised of large enough numbers to form nations or sizeable proportions of states in their numbers. By no means does this mean that there are not divisions or wars between them however.


There are a number of major players in the arena of the Known World – the elven nation of Shammarhys is perhaps the oldest and deepest rooted civilisation, though this is disputed by the keen craftsmen of the dwarven nation Ghurramahk.

The humans – once a slave race of the departed Daelkyr – have spread and founded their own nations: Solangis, Freehold, Bellayne and Loyir being the greatest among them.

The halflings have their Hearthholds, and the gnomes maintain the nomadic lifestyle that allowed them to survive the destruction of their cavern realms.

Living among them all are reminders of the scars of war – half elves, half orcs and half ogres all experience varying degrees of acceptance or rejection, while the warforged struggle both to construct a society for themselves, and to decide what stance to take on the less advanced mechs and constructs from which they were formed.


As if there wasn’t enough to contend with, the goblinoid hordes have, for now, retreated to the wastes, but still they strike out, emboldened by new leaders. The forces of the Unknown World, the darkness below, are always looking for avenues of influence. Tales occasionally reach the ears of the civilised world of horrific aberrations as old as time lurking in the depths and deserted places of the world, waiting for their time to come again, while other creatures dream of blotting out the sun, and striding forth under dying skies to claim the world…

And then there are the dragons – ancient foes of the giants – and equally gifted in guile and power. These two foes play a long game across a fractured board, and who knows what may tip the balance…

Benevici fragment

From the eyes of a squirrel, Benevici watched the bustle of activity. A pigeon fluttered in on the bridge's parapet, and he watched through those eyes too.

Bolter Background

Tanya looked at the bulky pistol, trying to work out what was so different about it. It seemed to be made of ceramic and plastic components, which made sense, but the magazine was thinner than expected and there didn't appear to be any external ports to eject casings.

Instead there was a thin grill that ran round the sides and back of the main block "What is it?"

"Its a bolter - designed for zero-g and pressurised environments - like planes and subs" She was holstering one of her own. "Israeli forces developed it for counter-terrorism - its got a high penetration against soft targets where microcharges blow the bolts inside - damages soft tissues and organs, relies on pain to incapacitate. But against hard shell armour or surfaces - like plane fuselages, habitat walls, things like that, the bolts shatter harmlessly."

"Always?"

"Well, mostly... but if they do go through, its only a little hole - easily patched."

Tanya put the pistol back down on the bench.

Character Portrait - Benevici

Do you get those days when everything works out just that little bit more right that you hoped? Where coincidence and the kindness of strangers combine to get you where you need to be just in time, or provide that bit of information you couldn’t have gone on without?

Without knowing it, you may have been helped by the bodiless and multi-formed Benevici. Moving silently from mind to mind like a breeze, peering out from the eyes of animals, children and old men, this quiet angel helps make the world a better place one unseen miracle at a time.

Character Portrait - Lorca

Tall and wide in the sense that layers of fat and muscle were competing for prominence; Lorca presents a cocky and dangerously belligerent stance. Unlike many who do so, she is capable of following through on the implicit threat she shouts to the world, being deceptively fast and nimble. Her dress tends towards that of the outlaw – the biker woman with tattoos, patches and sharp filed teeth. She displays strength proportionate to her appearance, but far more dangerous is the fire that burns within her.

As a demon of destructive flame, Lorca’s passion can be channelled to heat and sear materials that come into contact with her. A favoured tactic is to heat a crowbar or similarly robust piece of ferrous or conductive metal and lay about her with wild abandon.

Her physical form however is not the most durable, being essentially a container for the fiery essence within her. Large traumas will gouge or tear holes in her apparently fleshy exterior to reveal a baked and flame-licked interior of charcoal-like material.

This means that she can be driven off or defeated through the destruction of her physical presence, but it is usually only a temporary retrieve. Like the hidden embers within a fire-gutted house, her flames tend to rise again if treated incautiously.

Mind's Eye Imagery

I was once asked to describe how the fractured facets of myself presented themselves to my mind's eye - the image of a great iron-wheeled palanquin sprang to mind. The child peering out from a shuttered window, the remorseless defender in heavy slabbed armour standing before it, and tied to a leash to the defender a ravening wolf-human hybrid beast with claws and teeth dripping with blood. Its a crude image, but it works.

Anger

This is how it feels to be angry - white hot and ice cold and sick to the stomach all at the same time. Words stumble and mix as they stumble from a thickened tongue and clumsy jaw, and I swear I feel my IQ plummetting as the adrenaline kicks in, making my heart beat faster and my limbs tremble. The heat prickles my brow, sweat burning at my hairline. The ice lies in my bones, caging the second thoughts that would moderate what I would say. The silent scream feels like it will burst my ribs unless I give it voice, leaving me open and vulnerable and guilty for daring to speak up.