In the dungeons of Devarque, a vengeful wizard lay in shackles, plotting his escape. He shared his cell with a gibbering creature known as N'aix, a thief cursed by the Vile Council with longevity, so that its life-sentence for theft and cozening might be as punishing as possible. Over the years, its chains had corroded, along with its sanity; N'aix retained no memory of its former life and no longer dreamt of escape. Seeing a perfect vessel for his plans, the wizard wove a spell of Infestation and cast his life-force into N'aix's body, intending to compel N'aix to sacrifice itself in a frenzy of violence while the mage returned to his body and crept away unnoticed. Instead, the wizard found his mind caught in a vortex of madness so powerful that it swept away his plans and shattered his will. Jarred to consciousness by the sudden infusion of fresh life, N'aix woke from its nightmare of madness and obeyed the disembodied voice that filled its skull, which had only the one thought: To escape. In that moment Lifestealer was born. The creature cast its mind into dungeon guards and soldiers, compelling them to open locks and cut down their companions, opening an unobstructed path to freedom while feeding on their lives. Lifestealer still wears the broken shackles as a warning that none may hold him, but on the inside remains a prisoner. Two minds inhabit the single form--a nameless creature of malevolent cunning, and the Master whose voice he pretends to obey.

Little known to the inhabitants of the dry world, Dark Reef is a sunken prison where the worst of the sea-breed are sent for crimes against their fellows. It is a razor barbed warren full of murderous slithereen, treacherous Deep Ones, and sociopathic meranths. In this dim labyrinth, patrolled by eels and guarded by enormous anemones, only the vicious survive. Pitched into Dark Reef for crimes unknown, Slark spent half a lifetime without kin or kindness, trusting no one, surviving through a combination of stealth and ruthlessness, keeping his thoughts and his plans to himself. When the infamous Dark Reef Dozen plotted their ill-fated breakout, they kept their plans a perfect secret, murdering anyone who could have put the pieces together--but somehow Slark discovered their scheme and made a place for himself in it. Ten of the Dozen died in the escape attempt, and two were captured, hauled back to Dark Reef, then executed for the entertainment of their fellow inmates. But Slark, the unsung thirteenth, used the commotion as cover and slipped away, never to be caught. Now a furtive resident of the carnivorous mangrove scrub that grips the southern reach of Shadeshore, Slark remains the only successful escapee from Dark Reef.

Beatrix Snapfire and her dragon toad Mortimer are a welcome sight to the ragged folk who scratch out lives along the desert routes and oases scattered throughout Nanarak, the rain-forsaken gateway to the Outlands.

As well known for her unrivaled skills as a weaponsmith as for dispensing wisdom, mirth, and the meanest firesnap cookies the world has ever seen, Beadie's survived to a ripe old age in a young keen's trade by being quick with her wits and even quicker with her guns.

Indeed, the Outlands are littered with the bones of bandits and ne'er-do-wells who thought to take advantage of her small stature and propensity for kindness.

Riki was born middle child to the great dynasty of Tahlin. With an older brother groomed for the throne, and a younger brother coddled and kept, Riki, the small middle son, seemed born for the art of invisibility. It was an art he cultivated, and one which ultimately saved his life on the night that his people were betrayed and his family slaughtered. Of all the royal line, he alone escaped—small and agile, unassuming, using smoke as cover. He cut his way out of the royal grounds, using the advantage of surprise, quietly slitting the throats of one enemy warrior after another. Now free of his royal responsibilities, Riki uses his talents in service to a new trade: Stealth Assassin. He silences his enemies, sharpening his skills, hoping to one day take revenge on those who killed his family and robbed him of his birthright.

The fabric of creation needs constant care, lest it grow tattered; for when it unravels, whole worlds come undone. It is the work of the Weavers to keep the fabric tight, to repair worn spots in the mesh of reality. They also defend from the things that gnaw and lay their eggs in frayed regions, whose young can quickly devour an entire universe if the Weavers let their attention lapse. Skitskurr was a master Weaver, charged with keeping one small patch of creation tightly woven and unfaded. But the job was not enough to satisfy. It nagged him that the original work of creation all lay in the past; the Loom had done its work and travelled on. He wanted to create rather than merely maintain—to weave worlds of his own devising. He began making small changes to his domain, but the thrill of creation proved addictive, and his strokes became bolder, pulling against the pattern that the Loom had woven. The guardians came, with their scissors, and Weaver's world was pared off, snipped from the cosmic tapestry, which they rewove without him in it. Skitskurr found himself alone, apart from his kind, a state that would have been torment for any other Weaver. But Skitskurr rejoiced, for now he was free. Free to create for himself, to begin anew. The raw materials he needed to weave a new reality were all around him. All he had to do was tear apart this old world at the seams.

Deep in the Archive of Ultimyr, shelved between scholarly treatises on dragon cladistics and books of untranslatable spells, there is an ancient tome of entomological curiosities. Compiled by scholars, the book describes the telepathic talents of the zealot scarab, a strange species of social insect with abilities unique to all the seven planes. Unlike most grubs of his colony, Nyx Assassin did not arise from metamorphosis with the plodding thoughts and blunted appendages common to the worker caste of his kind. For his was a special transformation, guided by the grace of Nyx. He was the chosen one, selected from the many and anointed with an extract of the queen goddess herself. Not all survive the dark blessing of the queen’s chamber, but he emerged with a penetrating mind, and dagger-like claws–his razor sharp mandibles raking the air while his thoughts projected directly into the minds of those around him. Of all zealot scarabs, he alone was selected for the highest calling. After his metamorphosis, he was reborn, by grace of Nyx, with abilities which shaped him for one thing and one thing only: to kill in the name of his goddess.

Even the most contented Skywrath is an ill-tempered creature, naturally inclined to seek revenge for the slightest insult. But Vengeful Spirit is the essence of vengeance. Once a proud and savage Skywrath scion, Shendelzare was first in succession for the Ghastly Eyrie until a sister's treachery robbed her of her birthright. Snared in an assassin's net, Shendelzare tore free only at the cost of her wings, limping away in the ultimate humiliation: On foot. With her wings broken, she knew the Skywrath would never accept her as ruler; and in the highest roost of the Eyrie, inaccessible except by winged flight, her sister was untouchable. Unwilling to live as a flightless cripple, and desiring revenge far more than earthly power, the fallen princess drove a bargain with the goddess Scree'auk: She surrendered her broken body for an imperishable form of spirit energy, driven by vengeance, capable of doing great damage in the material plane. She may spend eternity flightless, but she will have her revenge.

Lost within the Wailing Mountains, the Fortress of Flares lay abandoned, its training halls empty, its courtyard covered in leaves and dust. Upon a dais in its sealed temple rests a topaz cauldron filled with ancient ash, remnants of a pyre for the warrior-poet Xin. For three generations, Xin taught his acolytes the Bonds of the Guardian Flame, a series of mantras to train the mind and body for the harsh realities beyond the fortress walls. However, in teaching a warrior's way he earned a warrior's rivals, and in his autumn Xin was bested and slain. His followers spread to the wind. Yet as years turned to centuries and followers to descendants, his teachings endured by subtle whisper and deed. Touched by the teacher's lasting legacy, the Burning Celestial, inquisitive aspect of fire, cast himself to the Fortress of Flares and reignited the pyre ash. From these glowing embers emerged an image of Xin, wreathed in flame, his thoughtful countenance prepared to train and to teach, and to spread the fires of knowledge to all who seek guidance.

Storm Spirit is literally a force of nature--the wild power of wind and weather, bottled in human form. And a boisterous, jovial, irrepressible form it is! As jolly as a favorite uncle, he injects every scene with crackling energy. But it was not always thus, and there was tragedy in his creation. Generations ago, in the plains beyond the Wailing Mountains, a good people lay starving in drought and famine. A simple elementalist, Thunderkeg by name, used a forbidden spell to summon the spirit of the storm, asking for rain. Enraged at this mortal’s presumption, the Storm Celestial known as Raijin lay waste to the land, scouring it bare with winds and flood. Thunderkeg was no match for the Celestial--at least until he cast a suicidal spell that forged their fates into one: he captured the Celestial in the cage of his own body. Trapped together, Thunderkeg's boundless good humor fused with Raijin's crazed energy, creating the jovial Raijin Thunderkeg, a Celestial who walks the world in physical form.

Deep amid the Upland crags and cliffs there runs a seam of sacred jade long foresworn by highland miners. From this rare material, the likeness of the great general Kaolin was carved and buried at the head of a stone funerary army ten thousand strong--a force of soldiers and holy men, jesters and acrobats, carved by craftsmen and entombed for millennia in the dark embrace of the Earth. What the craftsmen had not known was that within the strange seam of jade flowed the spirit of the Earth itself--an elemental force at one with the planet. When the force within the carved jade found itself cut off from the life's blood of the world, it gathered its strength over the course of a thousand years and dug itself free and into the light. Now the great Kaolin Earth Spirit strides the Upland roads, fighting for the spirit of the Earth; and in times of need calls forth remnants of his buried army still locked in the loving embrace of the soil.

Not even the other spirits claim to understand the mind and machinations of the eldest amongst them, Inai the Void Spirit. Privy to secrets that would shatter a mortal mind, the Void Spirit observes the workings of the universe from an unknowable vantage, choosing to let carefully groomed servants do his bidding -- only emerging from his Hidden Temple into the material plane when he deems that he alone can steer the course of reality along its proper path.

With an expansive perspective on existence, Inai is focused intently on a point in time beyond which he cannot see, when the fabrics of multiple realities are fated to collide. Now he steps from the aether to personally resolve the battle of the Ancients and prepare his allies for what he views as a greater conflict to come.

When Verodicia, Goddess of the Woods, had finished filling in the green places, having planted the coiled-up spirit in the seed, having lured the twining waters from deep within the rock, having sworn the sun its full attention to the growing things, she realized that her own time had reached its end, and like one of the leaves whose fate she had imprinted in the seed, she would fall without seeing the fruiting of her dream. It pained her to leave the world bereft, for the sprouts had not yet broken through the soil--and they would be tender and vulnerable to every sort of harm. She found in her seed pouch one last seed that she had missed in the sowing. She spoke a single word into the seed and swallowed it as she fell. Her vast body decomposed throughout the long winter, becoming the humus that would feed the seedlings in the spring. And on the morning of the vernal equinox, before the rest of the forest had begun to wake, that last seed ripened and burst in an instant. From it stepped Nature's Prophet, in full leaf, strong and wise, possessing Verodicia's power to foresee where he would be needed most in defense of the green places--and any who might be fortunate enough to call him an ally.