Ignathar the Ember Spirit
A towering figure of living flame, its outline guttering where it meets the air, embers shedding upward.
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 towering figure of living flame, its outline guttering where it meets the air, embers shedding upward.
A glittering horror of animate frost, limbs faceted like split ice, cold fog spilling from every joint.
A shambling mass of animate rock, slabs grinding against one another, older strata showing through the breaks.
A cyclone given a will, the suggestion of a face turning within a spiral of wind and torn debris.
An impossible geometry of teeth and eyes folding through itself, edges that do not meet where they should.
A colossus of thorn and root with a hollow where a heart would be, old bones caught and held in the tangle.
A faceless angel of judgement, too many wings folded close, a pair of iron scales hanging level from one hand.
A wound in the air roughly the shape of a mouth, the space around its edge bending inward into nothing.