Mistakes were made, people will be held accountable
Keep your wits about you man, they are only bullets. Not like we have to brave the damned bird.
Col. Chapman at the Battle of Miner Hill
Crystals have long be heralded as recepticals of magic power. Ice too, is a crystal.
In the bleak midwinter frosty wind made moan, Earth stood hard as iron, Water like a stone; Snow had fallen, snow on snow, Snow on snow, In the bleak midwinter, Long ago.
English poet (1830 - 1894)
Hammered from Stygian steel and inlaid with demonbone and bejeweled with demon jade and black diamonds, the blackest of blackguards are filled with lust and envy to possess this armor
A Totemos is a spirit or little god strongly associated with a human group, organization, or urban location.
A Restorative item for machines
It is the will of the King that a commision be formed to create a vehicle capable of bringing the firepower of a warship inland, without need of towage, transportation, protection. It must be self-reliant, able to withstand the rigours of battle. And it must be big.
An evaluation of the limited advancement of technology in standard genre fantasy.
30 ways to show off wealth
You can always recocognize a guardsman by his truncheon, tonburry hat, and pimple coat.
Stone peckers, foul-tempered beasts, better suited for cooking and mattresses than being allowed to breed
Anjet of Cenn Caerwaith
The forgotten realm
Fluffy headed plant things with an equally fluffy headed personality
A cunning and vicious predator, prized for it’s pelt and feared for it’s poisonous bite
Anjet of Cenn Caerwaith
The grapes of sorrow
An Elven made memory stone
Get to it, you mealy boned maggots! That stone isn’t going to cut itself!
I’m gonna be somebody, someday!
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...