When a pirate grows rich enough, they make him a prince.

Soon comes the cold, and the night that never ends.

A man could not always be where he belonged, though.

One night, in his cups, he drank a jar of wildfire, after telling his friends it would transform him into a dragon, but the gods were kind and it transformed him into a corpse.

That was the way of this cold world, where men fished the sea and dug in the ground and died, whilst women brought forth short-lived children from beds of blood and pain.

Fantasy is silver and scarlet, indigo and azure, obsidian veined with gold and lapis lazuli.

Most have been forgotten. Most deserve to be forgotten. The heroes will always be remembered. The best. The best and the worst. And a few who were a bit of both.