"Save the Bait", and other horrors.
Scents of ages past and scents of the zeitgeist. A guild of perfumers.
They consumed Great G’bod. They partook of the Giant Slug’s flesh.
"When in disgrace with fortune and men’s eyes
I all alone beweep my outcast state,
And trouble deaf heaven with my bootless cries,"
-Shakespeares 29th Sonnet.
A peculiar guild of specialists. "Flick your ticks, slice your lice, squeeze your fleas."
A Renaissance dawns. A School of Art emerges.
In one region of a forest, all of the trees are identical, down to the leaves and the twigs. If the PCs carve something into one of the trees, it could mystically propigate until it covered all of the trees, or could vanish since it was not carved into the one true tree.