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Spelldancer brings to life a dark fantasy world where beast-men races vie for their place in the world, amongst the ancient spirit races and the forlorn giants.
In the beginning, Elizium was the home of giants. The spirit world looked upon Elizium with interest, and some of their number descended from the Umbra to walk upon its face. The spirit races watched as some of the beasts grew and walked upon two legs instead of four.
Now the races of the beast-spawn have spread their influence to almost all of he world, driving the giants to the edge of extinction, and shunning the dark, dangerous places beloved of the Spirits.
Dark magic and panoramic cultures bring this alien world to life and open never-ending possibilities for adventure.
* Flexible character generation.
*Customisable magic items.
*A variety of playable races from beastmen (descended from the animal life of Elizium) to corporeal spirits (spirit creatures from the umbra that have anchored themselves to Elizium by constructing mortal bodies).
*Rules for curses, illness and misadventure.
*Fully supported with its own facebook group and free resource section on our website.
*A range of adventure modules to follow. *Tactical combat manoeuvres that can make a significant difference to the outcome.
"The loamy scent of the earth permeated the dimness of the pit. Its walls were pocked with still-living roots, from which dangled decayed trophies.
The remnants of some ancient enchantment still clung to a blade, so that it threw a faint luminescence into the air. Its glow lit its neighbour, a helm, cleft in twain, still bearing the stains which marked its last owner’s passing.
Beneath these sat the Goblin of Orm. Impossibly ancient, the Goblin was as green and wizened as the mossy entrance to his home. His purple hair crinkled sparsely from his scalp. His only garment was a strip of ancient and tattered cloth around his waist, but his jewels would have put a king to shame. Rings cluttered his fingers, and a chain of immense precious stones dangled and jangled around his throat. Numerous bangles chimed together as he cast polished bones upon a length of exquisite cloth on the filthy floor. He cackled at the resulting pattern.
“What do you want, horseson?” he rasped, barely even glancing at Grathmalesh Ashar.
“That’s horsedaughter” she corrected, her voice distorted by her helm.
“You must be hot in that.” He chortled. “Big strong horsegirl like you, coming to see a little old goblin like me in all that metal. Suppose I should be flattered.”
“Don’t flatter yourself, spirit scum.” She spat.
“Oh, come to trade insults, girl? Let me see your face before you call me names.” The Goblin seemed to be completely unmoved by her disrespect.
“I came here for the Spark of Horax.” Intoned Ashar.
“Ha! Come to call the thunder down, have we? Sure you can take it?”
“I can take it.”
“You think? A thousand years ago I cut it from the hand of a Centari princess. She fought hard, horsegirl, and she died hard too. You think you’re up to the task? Are you so desperate for the Thunderspear that you’ll trade away your life?”
“Think of something else to trade.” She said. “The sands of my life ran out long ago.”
“I know they did, Grathmalesh Ashar. You better have brought something good. It’s a pretty toy, and I likes it.”
Ashar pulled her helm off, to stare balefully at the Goblin. The dim light was lost in the sockets of her skull, and the white bone of her muzzle gleamed in the dimness. Only the mane she had shaken free still maintained any semblance of life.
“Your flesh didn’t frighten me, horsegirl, and your bare bones frighten me even less. Now what have you got for the Goblin of Orm?”
Grathmalesh Ashar stamped her hoof impatiently. Those of her status were not used to trading in the dirt like a peasant.
“I should not have to trade for what is already mine.” She said, imperiously.
“Rot. I cut it from your cold dead hand, like I said I would. It’s mine now, and I don’t give things away. Now show me the goodies, or get away.” He casually cast the bones once more.
Grathmalesh Ashar stamped impatiently, and at this two more figures stepped into the den.
“Numbers won’t help you.” Said the Goblin.
“Show him.” Ordered Ashar.
The first figure moved forward, bristles standing clear of his neck. His snout seemed to wrinkle at the smell of the place. The razor sharp tips of his tusks had dislodged roots and earth in the confines, as he stood over 6 feet tall. He held in his hands a large silver dish, its heavy engraving polished to a high sheen. The Goblin barely glanced at it.
“Threw better’n that out, boarboy.” He snorted.
The other figure rooted around in a sack with his hands and proboscis. He finally pulled free the irregular shaped object which required the extra handling, and dumped it into the tray. The shards were irregular and it would not balance properly in the dish.
“I told you we should have brought the krater,” the Aarcondon said, fussily.
In the dish, the strange object came to rest. The darkness seemed to be drawn towards its jagged surface, almost pooling in the dish.
“Shut up.” Snapped the Goblin. “Have some respect when you’re handing me the heart of Nathezda Malmoribane, gaoler of Golpak, Dark Lord of the Malmori.”
He took a moment to examine the item carefully.
“Looks like death was the making of you, horsegirl. You can take your pointed stick, I’m tired of it now.”
He jerked his head at a corner where an ancient spear hung. Ashar could hear it humming, as if it was calling to be back in her hands. The Goblin had risen and was taking the dish from the shaking Horatii. The Aarcondon pushed forward and grabbed at the spear, which almost cringed from his grasp. He flicked out his tongue to tighten his grip on it. Ashar grimaced. She had never been able to train him out of that habit.
The Goblin had returned to his seat, and was singing a merry song whilst cradling the Heart of the arch-traitor in his hands.
“Is that it?” said the Horatii.
“That’s it, H’rrothgarr” said Ashar. H’rrothgarr went for the exit as quickly as his remaining dignity allowed. Ashar relieved Aabaala of her Spear, trying to surpress the urge to wipe his saliva from the handle. As they left Aaabaala was struck from behind, and fell forward with a cry. Immediately Ashar turned, spear at the ready.
“Don’t need your stupid tray” the Goblin smirked."
A fantasy game of beastmen, spirits, demons and dark magic.