Ser Rhiane Thorne, the Justiciar-Princess
A justiciar-princess in the surcoat of the Order of the Scales, oath-cords at the wrist, sword sheathed and belted behind.
Letters, briefs and reports can be shown with their own typography. Automatic keeps that only while none of your settings above ask otherwise.
Everything the game knows, written down: commands and systems, the places in the world, and what there is to do in them.
A justiciar-princess in the surcoat of the Order of the Scales, oath-cords at the wrist, sword sheathed and belted behind.
The First Beast: a mountain of scarred muscle and old wrath, the broken ends of the seal-chains still sunk deep into its shoulders.
A serpent-haired horror with a level, unhurried gaze and stone-grey eyes.
A white stag whose wide antlers drag a small blizzard behind them.
A green-skinned orc warchief with a heavy underbite and jutting tusks, mismatched looted plate strapped over one shoulder, a war-standard of enemy helms on…
A bloated arachnid queen, silk and husks matted thick across her swollen abdomen.
A bird of prey vast enough to carry off cattle, talons open, wings filling the sky.
A cackling swamp-witch, mud to the elbows, bartering in stolen years.
A giant who bathed too long in the deep fire and came out burning under the skin.
A drowned titan of green bronze, weed-hung and barnacled, still walking a patrol nobody set.