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A name lost to all but the oldest of history books and mythic tales, yet more important than many modern rulers.
Yar…I do indeed know of Crossbones Isle, stranger. But ye’d be better suited to avoid that place like a widowed wench.
A random description pulls the players into the dangerous, scheming web of politics…
The followers of the mechanogod Whrrrm, those who could never have come about until the advent of steamtech.
"I will give man his threescore and ten, and then give him more. Death himself will fall before me."
That Which Kills Without A Touch. The Sorrow of Aler.
Not all hammers are tools of creation. Some are made for destruction, and some rare few truly excel at it.
...And 'lo, the days of Bennu drew to a close, and he built himself a pyre from which to be reborn in cleansing fire. But trickery snared his form, blackening radiant feathers to twilight...
Clockwork angels. Servants of the Mechanogod Whrrrm.
You find a dusty violin on a stand in the next room. Through the grime of the years, you can tell that it is of excellent make. Perhaps someone can put it to good use? An instrument is meant to be played, after all...
An ornate reliquary box, covered in fine metalwork that twists the eye and causes headaches.
A game for the poor people. A pole is greased with pig fat and gold and food is put at the top. The object is to climb and grab the food or reach a dangling sausage.
Ideas ( Society/ Organization ) | December 31, 2001 |