Game Management Tools

The Gilded Shrike, a flintlock pistol chased with gold and mother-of-pearl, fires silent bullets that leave neither wound nor blood but snatch the memory of a single name from the victim’s mind. Outlaws and lawmen alike covet it, though most cannot recall why they sought it once it leaves their hand. The Gilded Shrike, a flintlock pistol chased with gold and mother-of-pearl, fires silent bullets that leave neither wound nor blood but snatch the memory of a single name from the victim’s mind. Outlaws and lawmen alike covet it, though most cannot recall why they sought it once it leaves their hand.

The Alabaster Oracle is a blindfolded child who sits at the heart of the ruined city, her hair drifting in a wind no one else can feel. She speaks only in riddles and palindromes, eyes glazed with visions of futures tangled like fishing nets. The Alabaster Oracle is a blindfolded child who sits at the heart of the ruined city, her hair drifting in a wind no one else can feel. She speaks only in riddles and palindromes, eyes glazed with visions of futures tangled like fishing nets.

The Bloodcairn Throne is a grotesque seat of stone, built atop a mound of skulls in the deepest crypt. Crimson moss creeps over its arms, and anyone foolish enough to sit feels the weight of every betrayal in their lineage, pressed cold and hard against the heart. The Bloodcairn Throne is a grotesque seat of stone, built atop a mound of skulls in the deepest crypt. Crimson moss creeps over its arms, and anyone foolish enough to sit feels the weight of every betrayal in their lineage, pressed cold and hard against the heart.

On the northern slopes, the bones of Tarsk the Mammoth King pierce the tundra like white spires. Each tusk hums with ancient magic, drawing lightning from stormy skies and summoning snow that never melts. Locals warn that, on nights when the aurora dances, the ground shakes with a slow, shuddering heartbeat. On the northern slopes, the bones of Tarsk the Mammoth King pierce the tundra like white spires. Each tusk hums with ancient magic, drawing lightning from stormy skies and summoning snow that never melts. Locals warn that, on nights when the aurora dances, the ground shakes with a slow, shuddering heartbeat.

Aveline Blackwater, sheriff of Dustwind, carries both badge and burden with a weathered hand. Her gaze is as cold and steady as the barrel of her rifle, and rumor has it she once stared down a tornado until it turned aside. In her presence, men and storms alike find themselves wanting. Aveline Blackwater, sheriff of Dustwind, carries both badge and burden with a weathered hand. Her gaze is as cold and steady as the barrel of her rifle, and rumor has it she once stared down a tornado until it turned aside. In her presence, men and storms alike find themselves wanting.