The Road to the Hundred Angels
The City of Bells, home of Bornegault’s Tongue.
The Jesk family inn.
Beachcombing and coast-hugging, fantasy style. Animal, mineral, and vegetable. Sea-Junk. Flotsam and jetsam. Encounters and other oddities.
During certain years, people in Akgku claim to observe a green flame coming from the sea and erupting upward. It can be observed from a distance of two days’ journey or more. After burning for a considerable time, the flame disappears.
—Falklyde Wodinger, Haraconian scholar, in route to wondrous Udross and legendary Akgku.
Wieberburl, home of the peculiar Book-Fish.
The Horrors and Wonders of a distant, sun-drenched land. Everything you need to run a desert campaign!
Font of Damnable Contemplation
The Swollen Shadow’s magic is such, that anyone transported to its demi-plane, will always first arrive in the somber and hazy Umbral Fens, which surround the City of Shadow. After some searching one may find the Brittle Road, which leads through the shadow-choked swamps, to the City proper.
The sea is calm, the morning mists clear, the seagulls cry out, and land comes into view
The Whales Graveyard.
Powlgraff, The Fowl City.
What thieves convention can be complete without the ubiquitous Black Market! The specifics can obviously be as varied as one’s imagination. In fact, please consider this as the scroll it’s intended to be. The more stalls and booths the merrier!! Scras and I would like to see forty or so by next years convention. These are just twelve random ones we came up with. Some are quite standard, while others slightly more unorthodox. Maggot, your ‘thief bugs’ & their insidious proprietor go here.
"A-Wan, A-Wan, A-Wan". Awanggis is an unassuming place blessed with good clean water from a subterranean source.
Got a good joke to tell?
Cold Comfort is a long-sword of star-steel, its blade giving off a wan, blueish light. Its grip is wrapped tightly in snow-serpent hide, and its pommel bears a single opalescent gemstone.
This blade is enchanted in such a way, that whoever wields it, begins to fall completely and irrevocably "in love" with the weapon. This love does not manifest itself as the expected reverence and bond formed between any warrior and his weapon, but as a deeper, truer love, one has for a soul-mate of the same species! The longer the wielder carries Cold Comfort the stronger and more disturbing this love becomes, and only the most powerful of magicks can potentially break the sword's insidious spell. The blade's owner will even speak to and coo to the weapon, convinced that the sword understands and returns this epic love.
If the blade's wielder somehow loses the weapon or has it taken away, they will become inconsolable, and will predictably go to "ends of the earth and back" to retrieve it at any cost. Such is the weapon's curse that even separation from it does not damper the feelings the owner has for the sword. Legends tell of several distraught and mind-addled knights who even years after losing the blade, still wander the country-side searching for their lost love. And woe be to the "new lover" if and when they find him or her.