Hell. A place of suffering and torment, a often used and cliche ridden place that every GM has to relate to.

Trapped in a dream, chained by a net of magic, Deneus Betherim, arch mage of Cormalth bleeds magical essence from his fingers, fueling a rift in the fabric of existence; an essence conduit to the realm of elemental earth.

Earth, sand, mud, rocks and clay travel through the rift, and a mountain is being born beneath the feet of the ensorcelled conjuror.

Deneus is the blood of the mountain, fueling the portal, but who is the mastermind behind it all?

When the Caliph-Emperor of the Dunes hear about his son's heart attack at the northern front, his rage is unstoppable. For his son was only nineteen years old, and a trained athlete. Grief stricken as only a parent bereft of their child can be, the Emperor finally rouses the Empire into action.

So, when reinforcements finally arrive to the beleaguered veterans at the front, they are accompanied by the the Imperial Necromancers in their gold laced red silken robes, as well as the three old triplet hags of Devananon, seers and prophets who use narcotics to enhance their trance visions.

As the Prince's corpse is carted to the Spires of Devananon, where the necromancers and the triplets will work their magic, the PCs will have to conjure a plan of their own. For they are to blame for the Prince's death.

This plot is set five months after the happenings of "A Dark Moon over Sagranz", but could be adapted by any GM to fit his setting and need.

The players; survivors of an elite squad of mercenaries, are assigned to an assassination mission. Their task; to penetrate enemy lines during night, enter the fortified Holzberg Monastery where Sagranz has his command, and kill the elderly Hexenjaeger in his sleep.

If only it was so easy...

In the ramshackle town of Spear Malice only a single building still stands. It has defied the Great War and its spears of light; nuclear blasts that devastated the entire state, and ever since then it has defied the onslaught of time.

Its halls have not yet been breached, and a wealth of technological treasure await, ripe for plunder! But there are others who crave this treasure; others that will do anything to claim it.

A second chance

A Village by a forest, and a secret few knows. Will the PCs discover what dwells beneath the surface?

Come, face Hak-Hakunin, the accursed and undying spawn of Dancer Kallina. Watch him trek through eternity, a cruel and heartless executioner of infants and innocents. A cold toy of the Gods, a death bringer and prisoner of fate.

In the dark alleys of Malcaresh, the Caravan City of the Plains, many an adventurer meets his death at the end of an unseen blade. Even more part unwillingly with their belongings, having fallen victim to the thieves and cutthroats plying their old and ignoble trade. Yet even among these, the whispers of House Caraguil invoke fear and discomfort.

What initially appears to be another trek through wintry mountain landscapes will be revealed as a true struggle for survival. For the mountain known as the Kiebral is an ancient evil, its secrets are countless and its power is immense. Can the PCs outwit a power from the dawn of time, or will they succumb and be trapped for all eternity?

This is a scroll for posting spells to be used with fantasy art, or just debating possible effects and uses for magic together with art. Come join the creative effort.

The Province of Ardamoth, or Ardamien as is the modern name, was the first of the Old Continent settlements on the Dhargenaas Continent. Of course the Imperials from Aumethorion had already founded the Careshian Empire (The Southern Empire) and the Belemarians had founded the Empire of Belemar, but the Ardamians were the first from the Old Continent and arrived just 10 years after the landfall.

The Province of Silmar is the cold and windswept area from the tip of Cape Murder in the North, to the Imperial Border in the south. Silmar is a place of suspicions and of persecutions; a place where magic users are burnt at the stake and crusades are launched frequently. The reasons for the crusades may wary, but the basics remain the same; the lure of the dark arts has consumed someone and a Crusade must be launched to purge that which has succumbed to darkness.

The Sextant of the Soul is a potent magical artifact that can only be found within the dreamscape.

In the quaint little town known as Golothei, the infamous black legion makes it’s last stand against the mountain tribes of the Ugeroth. On the Asylum River Island the battle rage most intensely, legionary squad mages barely holding their own against the onslaught of chaos worshipping tribal sorcerors. To this location the PCs are destined to travel in search of the powerful artifact known as the Tallow Candle. But not all is as it seems within the halls of the asylum.

At the base of the Cyllerean Mountains a small coven of witches has laired where once was a Temple of Good.

Deep beneath the central tower laid the chambers of the Arcane. This is where the mages, witches and warlocks place those creations they deem to dangerous. The crystal bell Ã? Beloth Ã? was such a creation. Shortly after it was created by Magnus of Cormalth, it got into the hands of a cunning mercenary captain known as Harlan Marcus. Let’s shorten the tale and just say that the mages in the college valley did not like to have Harlan and his men roaming about the valley, helping themselves to the mages valuables. The bell rendered the college magic useless, and the mages locked themselves in, awaiting Harlan, armed with brooms, pottery and kitchen utensils.

The bell was later recovered, together with Harlan himself, and both were locked away in the chambers of the arcane.

This is the conclusion to the Prophecies of Redemption Campaign. The characters have sojourned through mountains and lowlands to reach the forest in which the entrance to the demon lord’s citadel can be found.

But the Citadel is not what one could expect. Can the PCs find their way in and survive to tell the tale?

Near the summit of mount Arak’nui, the remnants of the elven race still lingers. Their hearts darkened, their spirits broken, they have turned to evil and embraced demon-worship.

Darkness and bitterness has consumed them, and they have turned away from their gods and summoned demons to inhabit the flesh and souls of the willing. Shadow dancers these elves are called, and they are an instrument of revenge, wreaking havoc wherever they dance into the midst of the enemy. It was an alliance hastily made in those desperate days three centuries ago, but as the elves witnessed the agony and change visited upon the shadowdancers they regret the decision more and more.

An enormous Angoath was holding a young recruit in his hands, his body broken and blood seeping freely from between the cracks of his banded armour. The dead legionary’s head lolled unnaturally; obviously the neck had been crushed. It was amazing how fast these creatures could move and suddenly it lowered its head and charged headlong towards me, no doubt intending to skewer me on that sharp, spiky ridge. All around me I glimpsed similar scenes. The Angoath were washing over us like a wave of black silver, their claws rending us apart, their teeth chewing into our armour.