A short tale, for when your bard needs a tale of adventure, romance, and tragedy.
Lost to the mysts of time and catastrophe, the fabled Zhao Zwehian Library has reappeared. Or at least, part of it has...
Home to the fabled Shining Towers, a gleaming beacon of light for miles around.
An ornate reliquary box, covered in fine metalwork that twists the eye and causes headaches.
Favored minion of the necromancer Warmaker, the Ossilyth is a tank of an undead.
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...
Clockwork angels. Servants of the Mechanogod Whrrrm.
"I will give man his threescore and ten, and then give him more. Death himself will fall before me."
...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...
The door to the building is open, but inside is nothing but darkness. The lights are out: What do you do?
A short sidebar of encounter information for the fel Shadowbeasts.
A subterranean prison complex, meant to incarcerate those who need to be removed from society.
A realm of unending darkness, pitch blackness, where even light refuses to shine.
Bob and Alice are being chased by something/someone dangerous. They move into a new area, and the pursuit suddenly is nowhere to be found. What does the pursuer know that our heroes don't?
Casting spells is a difficult, oftentimes dangerous task. Power can be attained in spades by those so inclined, but controlling it once unleashed is something else entirely. There are a number of different ways that the form of the spell, the spell matrix, can be encoded, each with their own advantages and disadvantages.
30 books to be found within a steampunk setting. Manuals, tomes, and blueprints galore!
With bright light and 5 minutes burn time, this is required equipment for any cave-diver worth his salt.
A name shrouded in the mists of time. A scheme of pure genius. A relic of the Mage Wars.
The PCs have travelled long and far. As nightfall approaches a mighty storm is unleashed. Luckily there is a lush wood nearby the path.
A good shelter for the rage of the unnamed weather gods it seams at first. As the PCs enter under the roof of this dense wood, they are welcomed by only a few drops wich is allowed trough the thick forest crown. A fire is offcourse required to warm the weary bones of the travellers. As one of the party is set to the task of collecting firewood the others settle down at a suitable location. But alas, they did not know the perils of this forest. But it seems clear to the rest of the party that something ill is at work as the woodcutters scream echo from afar.