My name is Edgar. And I am a Crow. Yes, the one that humans—a class of being I once belonged to—fear.
To be frank, I do not like the term Crow very much. They call us that because they see us as scavengers, a sort of petty nuisance (were we not so deadly, of course), like filthy sewage rats running across worlds scrambling for junk. I like to see myself more as a… demigod. An existence between a mortal and a god. No matter, it is but a name, a term, a label to make the inconveniences of social conventions convenient. Let’s not dwell on that. Continue reading “Crowfall: Penitence”
There are legends in our world. Legends of gods and demons; of creatures that lurk in darkness; of things we do not invite into our house. But even the demonic folks in our legends have their legends. One of them was the Cliff. The Cliff is a dark place even by demonic standards, and lies at the edge of Hell. It is not uncommon to … Continue reading DotA Origins: The Rise of Gor-Ka’thul
‘Quick!’ snapped Krobelus. She motioned her claw-like hands to the donkey. ‘What are you taking so much time for? I’m carrying the tide of the war single-handedly and I need my bottle right now.’ Continue reading DotA: Death Prophet Carries
The red velvet curtains rolled back, the lights dimmed, and the murmurs of excitement and anticipation in the large dome soon faded. From the darkness, an oboe whispered a slow, melancholic tune. A ballerina glided gracefully to the centre of the stage, her arms flowing along with her satin dress. Continue reading The Widow’s Kiss
Ruben Frederick took an appreciative glance at the staff in his hand. It was plain. Plain enough that no one took a second look. An olive-green wooden rod resembling more a quarterstaff than the exquisite arcane staffs commonly used by his kind. Ruben had never seen a staff looked more ordinary than his. But that was the brilliance of it: Ordinary, inconspicuous, and raised no questions. Continue reading “DotA Origins: The Wandering Magus”
He had finally succeeded in completing his project that seemed as impossible as it was damned. The young sorcerer, with skills beyond his age and ambitions that were too big for his own good, had invented a way into where the demons lurk, where magics are at their foulest and the origin of all evils — Hell. When he was finished with the ritualistic preparations, he unrolled a scroll covered in Runic writings on the altar before him. The green-haired sorcerer had all that he needed. He had all the Chants, steps, spells, tools and everything else required for the ritual memorized. He will not fail. He must not fail. Continue reading “Surface of the Necromancers”