Forged on fields of carnage, enriched by wars of conquest, fed by rivers of blood…  The title was precious and sweet to his father and his fathers before him: Lord of War. His ancestors wore the name with pride and arrogance, their blades restless and without mercy.
But to Maulg the Placid these symbols are a heavy burden, a hated and suffocating legacy. A cruel past whose abhorrent litany is sung only by spiteful bards.
Today, he is king.
Today is the first in the line of the Lords of Peace.

Sounds and Fury.
The deafening sound of weapons clashing, the last breaths of the dying, the war screams of the warriors, the hymn of the gods …
His moves are ample, quick, and precise. His widened eyes observe with a deadly accuracy, anticipating feints and strikes.
The pain is pungent; the soil is rough beneath the bodies.
His axe sings, reddened by the flames and the blood.
He dances without smiling.

He is Carnage.

« - My name is Guruk the beige… grrruuuuuupfffffhhh »
A long silence, only enriched by the throat noises of his breathing, signs of his extreme emotional strain.

« - Pssssssuuuuiii… Allallane the hairy, the flesh of my flesh, has blessed the gods with his last breath … grrroumphhh… my tribe is no more … » 

Again a slow exhalation, the noise of the wind in the trees. « - I am the last of the Shaggy Manes. »

Nature is full of wonders: The lizard has a fragile tail that, when cut off by a greedy beak, grows back until it is again complete as it was initially.
Nature is also surprising: A man, during the course of his sometimes hazardous experiments, can have his penis cut off. Kept in Ice, agile fingers can reassemble the man with his sexual appendix, reassembling the whole: the Man and his virility.
Nature is also tricky: The succubus, having been submitted to wicked operations, lost its crab claw. This crab claw is reborn in the den of the Kraken! And you, you who read these lines, become the demiurge of the demonic transplant.

Do not trust her neat looks: The Yarriguette is a daughter of the night, she carries scissors. She is the forgotten younger sister of the Fates.

She is the one that entangles the tapestry; the very reason because of which the life of Men are full of surprises.

But the Yarriguette does not plan to eternally make double knots in the tapestry of Fate, or hold the candle for Heroes that lost themselves in the Tartarus: The Yarriguette dreams of a passionate and savory Idyll.

So she parted her old rags, and dressed in nice lace. She left the ancestral bronze palace, and went the path of the hobbits, looking for a suitable Yarrigo.

In the year 408 of the Idja Era, Comis the wanderer discovered a piece of pink granite hidden under the sands of the unsavory plain : The legendary stone of Sôôô Shïïï Zon, last witness to the tragic story of Airticia the blonde Amazon.

« - There is not a chance in Hell that I will take her as my first wife! How could even consider this? Have you even seen your sister? With such a fish-selling body type, shaped like a pear injected with anabolic steroids, I‘d rather sleep with a nest of hornets! And what is she doing now? Posing for a pectoral contest?»
The words of Princes Airtis XXVIII when his cousin Ridin submitted his terms for the pax gnomana.

Versailles.
Carla was reluctant. In her skin tight purple dress, she sang with a high pitched low voice, trying to calm the beating of her heart down. The iron grip that closed around her stomach would not le go. She had trouble breathing. She did not dare the enter the gallery of mirrors, afraid to see her new body in these  mirrors. Yes, these last days at the Odessa sea in the company of Mr Gamma had transformed her.

It is already too late for you, for you have already turned your back on your own childhood. Your daily lives are made of reasonable considerations, of satisfying and rational compromises and of calculated risks. Peter does not do any of this, nor does he think about it: He lives his dreams, beholds vast countries that only exist in his imagination. He does not bother about security, him who dwells in the adventurous world of childhood. He has made his choice: to abruptly reject the blight that slowly transforms children into grown adults.

"Daemon failure ? But... but... how do they know ???"

The breath of the Simoun slowly made her saffron scented ebony curls dance on her shoulders, but never distracted her.

Her quiet glance was steadily observing the horizon, with the calm serenity of the one who knows that the invaders will eventually manifest themselves and converge towards her city.

But Rhymaïss was ready to welcome them, steel in hand. She had always been!

"The creature walked towards us, stumbling in the growing darkness that accentuated the pale lividity of its unnatural skin. His rusty weapon swung at the same erratic rhythm of his walk, like it was trying to compensate for its owner’s  precarious balance. We should have been terrified by this warped creature who could feel but hatred for us.

But strangely its decrepit aspect awakened nothing but pity in us. Seeing it so heinously target our lives, we could not help but be touched by Furgol and his appealing mediocrity."