Recent content by Twisted Teller

The Office door came open with a groan, and there, mustachioed, stood Sergeant Mardu, looking over the two private agents that stood in the hall. "Feh, just my luck," he said with a half grin. "But I guess help is help, all things considered," he waved the two in, and walked about the plain...

A serial killer is on the loose.

Alliria, The Outer City, Silver District... This was the thirteenth victim. Left same as the last. To hang by hook. Parts butchered. Stitched back together. Wrong. Twisted. Too neat. Harvested. Eyes, ears, tongue and nose. Teeth left to grin. "Another husk," "Another husk..."...

The ancient blood of the Svalen boils. All hear the pound of their mortal hearts, drums that quicken with the want of sweet release. Staff swings, blades of wind howl, and darkness wraps warm around the steamed sailor, white hot runes etched across her flesh fading to dull reds. The Axe of...

Kick away the relic, the sailor did. The strangely lit object, as luminous as a sickly sun, sailed through the air, lofted up as it was by her boot. It pinged off the wall, bounced off the skull of a brainless minion, rattled the bones of a second, and then landed neatly in the hands of one...

The Iron Revenant looms large before Nere, a hulk of malformed metals through which a haze of ashen iron swirls and sifts, ringing so much like sand rattling through an empty kettle come scrubbing day. Its metallic surface, porous with spikes, an impossible construct that bends the mind with its...

Fast you fly, cutting, bashing, and running your way across the shambling dead. The maw grows larger before you, the hordes of shambling dead grows thinner as the leviathan's skull looms closer and closer. The fighting gets thicker as you get nearer to the rows of man-sized teeth, but those...

Dark winds sweep across the dead land. Shadows slice through undead soldier as holy weapon sunders bone and flesh with sparks of divine light. Together for now. But the leviathan's skull still beckons you all as the necromancers spells go on, rolling through the sky like mad clouds of sound...

For she who surrendered to those she lost For she so spiked by spite long past For he twice forsook For he who has no fear but does regret For he who shelters their companion As most swell toward the maw of the skull, through the streams of dead, blades and spears stab at you, guided...

Fate pulls at the chords of your soul. Venture, forward or be lost to the shadows and darkness you know so well. Be it alone, or in tandem. Only you may decide, for the pull of power is there, its hook in your heart, and its line come reeling in. What is true for all, is the stench of a death...

The mists of magic diffuse around you as you awaken to a dead land, scarred by the taint of old curses, pestilence born from greed and violence that sprouted from foul seed. The stench of sulfur and ammonia thick in the cold clingy air that veils every inch of bare skin. How it sticks to you...