Deep within the bowels of the earth, the great structure of reality finds itself at siege.
And Cain said “Blood of my Blood, Soul of my Soul, partaketh of the Blood of the mortals, who art like the swine and chattel of the earth.”
An elder lich recently returned from a journey across the worlds who seeks an artifact of ancient times.
A regular female Robin Hood with an appreciation for relaxation.
The Sword has returned from long and ancient exile. Can it’s glory be kept from falling into the wrong hands?
Long lost beneath the raging seas, the Sword holds the pure power that nobody could ever contain.
A childlike cat burglar who catches her victims unaware.
The village sits on the edge of the deep fjord, often engulfed in mist or rain. Its people are fishermen, who work even through the sea-ravaging winter. And they pray to the gods of the deep.
At the beginning of every winter they hold a summoning ceremony. Three boats are taken out into the fjord, a hornsman on each. The mournful horns are blown in the language of the whales, the gods of the deep. The whales sometimes appear in answer to these calls, and it is taken as a good omen when they do.
To a party of PCs wandering the misty hills and valleys nearby however, the doleful whalesong of the horns can be disturbing and misinterpreted...