NOW LIVE! Today's the day you meet your new best friend. You don’t have to leave Wolfy behind... In 'Pets & Sidekicks' your companions level up with you!

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Message: <blockquote data-quote="Joshua Randall" data-source="post: 1180415" data-attributes="member: 7737">CasiornThe Silver Bow of Duadon was carved from the rare wood of the silver oaks that grow in central Magnamund. The Silver Bow’s complete lack of markings make it impossible to determine its age, and it seems to resist normal wear and tear. It is an equisitely crafted weapon, so well made that its accuracy is noticeably better than normal. When its string is drawn, the bow seems to hum slightly in an almost subliminal fashion. This weapon is presently borne by the Herbalish scout known as Kell, of the Company of the Red Kestrel. = = = The City-State of Casiorn rises out of the Dry Main like a vision within a mirage. Everywhere one looks, one sees gleaming gold and silver domes, pristine white minarets, lush stands of trees. For High-Mayor Kordas, whose personal fortune is rumored to exceed one million Gold Crowns, spares no expense in the maintenance and beautification of his city. Casiorn also houses a famed arena, known colloquially as The Veins, after the red striations that run through the marble from which it is built. This arena is the site of a neverending panoply of games, ranging from gladiatorial combat to spell duels to great battles pitting savage beasts against condemned criminals. Travelers from across Magnamund come to observe, bet on, or even participate in the games — for it is said that even a slave can earn his freedom and his fame on the burning, blood-soaked sands. But away from the High-Mayor’s palace and The Veins; outside the ring of carefully planned streets, piazzas, and fountained parks; away from the center of the city, Casiorn sprawls groaning under the burning sun. Beggars, their flesh rotting from Limbdeath, accost those who travel the streets on foot. Gangs of fatherless children act out the law of the jungle upon a desert stage, proving again and again that makeshift weapons kill as readily as those crafted of steel. Holy men, seers, and lunatics jostle for space along the busy thoroughfares, screaming imprecations at each other from opposite corners. Alchemists and quacks compete to see who can sell liquid remedies the fastest, with skullcapped magi looking on through heavy-lidded eyes. Everywhere the smell of incense burns cloying in one’s nostrils, but the stench of the garbage heaped in piles and alleys is worse. Above all there is the noise: the calls to prayer, the imprecations of disappointed beggars, the haggling, the squabbles, and the clink of money changing hands. This is Casiorn, Emerald of the Desert.</blockquote>

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